Corpse Cafe
by ululate
Summary: Anna is fairly certain that the barista is dead, but the dead have only recently made themselves known to the living, and the living hate change. Anna only wants to talk, but how is she supposed to convince the skittish dead girl that she means no harm? (My own unconventional take on a "coffee shop" fic, posted on Halloween for obvious reasons. Elsanna, non-incest)
1. Chapter 1

"Are you dead?" The girl asks brightly. She's young and radiant, her hair like cut sunlight. College age, if Elsa were to guess, though she's getting too old to gauge such things accurately, despite her own youthful appearance. Elsa doesn't look up, spindly fingers clasped around her mug, as if trying to leech whatever warmth they can from the thin cardboard. "I bet she's dead," the girl is continuing. Elsa can feel her turning to her friends. The TV is playing in the corner. Why can't they just watch the TV like everyone else?

"Anna, don't be rude," another voice. The same sort of sunny, but sterner, and less carefree.

"I'm not being rude, 'punzie," that first voice says. "I've just never…"

Elsa still doesn't look up. She combs her platinum hair down over her face, and hopes they go away.

"Anna, she doesn't want to talk," says the second voice.

Elsa focuses on the TV, and does her best to ignore them. "...are calling it the humans first movement," the news anchor is saying. "Others are calling it terrorism, and violence against the dead. In this age of equality…" Elsa stops paying attention. She wishes people would just stop. Stop talking about it. Stop burning graveyards. Stop bombing old mansions. Stop bothering her.

"Did you hear me?" Anna doesn't sound annoyed. She doesn't sound angry or impatient, like someone else might. It sounds like she's only curious.

"Anna," says a third voice. Masculine, and lower. It's a smooth voice, like honey maybe, but something about it bothers Elsa. "It doesn't want to talk to you."

Elsa sucks in an unnecessary breath, toys with the feel of magic lurking just beneath the thin skin of reality. It's a comforting presence.

"Hans," says that second voice. 'Punzie, the first voice had called her. "Don't be an ass."

Elsa stands, disposes of her untouched drink, and moves back around the counter. Anna follows. She doesn't hear Elsa's deep, annoyed, sigh.

"Yes ma'am?" Elsa asks shortly. "What can I get for you?"

"I already bought a hot chocolate," Anna frowns. "I'm just trying to talk to you."

"If you aren't going to buy anything, I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the counter, and make room for other customers," Elsa replies. She looks around the small room, mostly deserted at this hour.

"Elsa honey?" Her supervisor's voice sounds in the other room. "Be nice to the customers." His name is Kristoff, tall and blonde, like the man her parents had wanted her to marry. She supposes she ought to be grateful to him; not many supervisors are willing to take a chance on a litch. She sighs, straightens her shirt, looks around the little coffee shop for literally anything else.

"What do you want ma'am?" Elsa tries to inject as much cheer into her voice as she can.

"Be nice," Kristoff says from the other room. Elsa sighs again, and straightens her shirt again unnecessarily.

"Um?" Anna blushes. Elsa wishes she could blush. "Are you dead? It's just, I've never met a litch before, and it's halloween, and I thought 'what a coincidence,' and I've never talked to a litch before, and I just wanted to say hi?" Anna frowns, and scratches her head as she thinks back over her words. "And I didn't mean to bother you, and sorry." Anna smiles brightly.

Elsa sighs, and glances at the big auburn haired man at her shoulder. "Yes," Elsa says.

"You're a litch?" Anna squeals, and leans forward on the counter. She stares intently at Elsa's pale face. "What's it like? Is there as much discrimination as we see on tv?"

"It's not discrimination," Hans says smoothly. Kristoff appears at Elsa's slender shoulder. "People are scared of corpses. They shouldn't be moving around. It's not natural."

"Neither are vaccines," Kristoff looms reassuringly. Anna squeaks, straightens, and steps back. "But both make you live longer. Neither is washing your hands, or cooking your food. Neither is shooting a lion that's trying to eat you. Doesn't seem like such a bad thing."

"The difference is, people don't have a reason to be afraid of soap," Hans retorts quickly. Elsa shrinks back into Kristoff's broad-shouldered frame.

"Whenever people find something different, they'll make up a reason to be afraid of it," Kristoff snaps back. "You're not welcome here any longer. Get out of my store, and stop bothering my employees."

Anna frowns sympathetically. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean…" she starts to leave. Hans glowers, but a light shove from 'Punzie, and a few whispered words, and he hurries out.

"Anna, right?" Elsa asks before the little redhead's hand closes around the door handle. Anna nods. "How'd you know? That I'm a litch, I mean?"

"You dress like my grandma," Anna says cheerfully, and then the door chimes, and she's gone.

* * *

 **AN: Posted in honor of Halloween. As always, review/follow/favorite if you want to show your support. And if you don't want to show support, a review saying what made you leave would help me improve next time...**

 **I've always wanted to do a coffee shop fic, but I can't seem to bring myself to write anything normal. I've also always wanted to try an "Elsa is a vampire" fic, but those seem to be pretty overdone as well, so why not use a less popular type of undead? Boom. The Litch. Bane of every D &D party ever. Ahem. I'm just gonna go back to my corner now...**


	2. Chapter 2

Anna doesn't come by the little coffee shop for three days. Elsa doesn't quite know how to feel about that. On the one hand, it was _exciting_. And it's not like Anna herself had been terribly rude. On the other hand, it had made Elsa feel something in her unbeating heart, which she's not so sure she likes, and something about that Hans fellow had her shaky and afraid. Whenever the door chimes, Elsa looks up quickly, and sucks in an unnecessary breath. Elsa doesn't know whether to be relieved, or disappointed when it turns out not to be the odd little redhead each time.

On the fourth day, Anna stepps timidly through the plate glass door. Elsa is having an off day. She has them occasionally. It's a side effect of being dead. Everything feels wrong, and she has trouble remembering who she is. Kristoff always helps her when she gets like this. She likes Kristoff. Kristoff is nice. Isn't she supposed to marry him one day? It's so hard to remember.

"Kristoff?" She turns to her boss.

"Yes?" Kristoff doesn't look up, so Elsa waits, like she's been taught. He sighs, signs a piece of paper, and turns to her. "Yes, Elsa sweety?"

"I'm…" Elsa frowns, as she forgets what she was trying to say. "I'm," she starts again.

"Take your time," Kristoff turns back to his paperwork. Elsa frowns, and goes back to the counter, because she dimly recalls that someone ought to be there at all times.

"Hi," Anna says brightly.

"What would you like to order, sir or ma'am," Elsa says. She smiles when she gets it right.

"Um?" Anna blinks a few times. "I'm sorry about before. I brought you something." She produces a bouquet of flowers. Small and scraggly, but Elsa doesn't mind.

"Before?" Elsa tries very hard to remember. Anna looks familiar. There's a name, at least. "Anna?" Elsa tries to make sure.

"That's right," Anna smiles, and waves the flowers insistently. "Uh, these are yours."

Elsa frowns, and studies the stems. Sometimes flowers have thorns, she remembers. Or maybe that's bees that have the thorns? It's important, Elsa knows. She doesn't heal fast, and something bad will happen if people notice. She doesn't see any thorns. Doesn't see any bees either, so she supposes it's ok. Elsa reaches across the counter, and takes the offered flowers.

Her sleeve pulls up when she does, shows a flash of too pale skin, and the ugly black numbers tattooed there. "Thank you," Elsa says automatically.

Anna stares at the number, even after it's covered again. "Danke," Elsa says, in case Anna didn't understand her.

"Um, you're welcome, I guess," Anna says. "I guess I should order?" Elsa studies the flowers. Why is she getting flowers? She can't remember.

"Are you ok?" Anna asks. She gives a concerned frown.

"Es tut mir leid," Elsa says slowly. Kristoff appears at her shoulder.

"Shhh," he says. "We can't understand you when you talk like that."

"Es tut mir leid," Elsa repeats.

"Is she alright?" Anna asks. She looks quickly between the two.

"She gets like this sometimes," Kristoff says. "I should've… what are you doing here? I thought I told you not to come back."

"Right," Anna scratches the back of her head. "I was sorta hoping that only applied to Hans. I brought flowers." Anna squints suspiciously. "Why are you making her work like this? You're not exploiting her, are you?" Anna starts to climb over the counter.

"I get like this sometimes," Elsa repeats helpfully. "Kristoff?"

"Yes Elsa?" Kristoff glares at Anna and motions for her to get down. He turns fully to face Elsa.

"I'm…" Elsa frowns, opens and closes her mouth a few times. "Are we getting married? Is that why I got flowers?"

"No Elsa," he says patiently. "That was someone else. He's been dead for a while now."

"Ok," Elsa agrees.

"Elsa," Kristoff bends to her level. "Can you take a tray, and gather up all the empty cups out there?" He gestures to the seating area. Elsa nods solemnly, so he continues. "Be careful not to drop any, ok?" Elsa nods again, and sets off. "Why are you here?" Kristoff turns to the little redhead. There's menace in his voice.

"I wanted to apologize," Anna says meekly. "I brought her flowers?"

"Why do you care?" He snaps.

"'Cuz," Anna shrugs. "She deserves an apology. Also, I just really really really want to talk to her. See, I'm in journalism school, and I need to write a thing, and I was hoping to talk to her, and she's really pretty, and I think she maybe needs a hug, and I'm sorry. Shutting up now."

"Hmpfh," Kristoff grumbles intelligibly.

"Why are you making her work today?" Anna demands suddenly. She's produced a pen and a small notebook from somewhere. "If she's not feeling well, you shouldn't make her work."

Kristoff holds up his hands in surrender. "I didn't know she was like this today," he says defensively. "I've been busy, doing paperwork, and…" he pauses for a moment. "How do you expect her to get home now? You really think it's safe to leave her on her own?"

Anna raises an eyebrow, and points at Kristoff. Points at Elsa. Points at the door. She jots down a few quick notes.

"You don't get to publish any of this," Kristoff says. He crosses his arms over his broad chest. "Fine. I'll walk her home. Someone's going to have to watch the shop though."

"I can watch the shop," Anna agrees. "I'm a kickass watcher. I'll make sure nothing gets stolen. And I can make coffee. I mean, I'll figure it out, how hard could it be… at least I can make a mean smoothie?"

"You're making me feel real confident," Kristoff grumbles. "Elsa honey?"

Elsa walks over slowly. She wears a frown of intense concentration, and bites her lip lightly. She transfers the tray to the counter with the same care that a child shows when told to only pet a small animal with two fingers. "I didn't drop any," she reports proudly.

"Good job," Kristoff nods encouragingly.

* * *

Kristoff is asleep in her big old armchair when Elsa wakes the next morning. She's sprawled atop the covers, still in her work clothes, as if someone had dropped her there, and given up.

Who am I, she asks herself. Elsa. Litch, barista… that's about it actually. Witch, maybe, though she hasn't cast anything in years. Where am I? That's easy; her creaky old bed in her shitty, rundown apartment in a too-energetic college town in northern Washington. When? Less easy. Twenty-twenty, good start. Late october? Early November? That sounds about right. Not an off day. She sighs in relief.

"Mpfh," Kristoff groans. "'Morning." He stretches. Elsa can feel his bones popping.

"I hate this," Elsa says. She looks down at her pale hands. "It's the fifth?" She asks. "Of November?"

"Yeah," Kristoff nods. "Hope you didn't mind. You came into work yesterday, and I had to get you home safe, then I didn't feel right leaving you alone when you were… I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds?"

"You're not," Elsa says. She stands, and stretches. She can hear her own joints popping, but can't feel them. "I'm sorry to be a burden."

"You're not," Kristoff says. He's met with a sceptical state. Clear eyes, like cut glass, not cloudy with death like he had expected when he first met her. Elsa glances around her small room. Undecorated and unadorned. She catches sight of the vase, half filled with sad, withered little flowers. She likes them. They seem familiar, like how she's come to think of herself.

"Where did these come from?" Elsa asks.

"Anna," Kristoff says. "I don't know if you remember her? She came in with her friends a few days back? Wanted to talk to you?"

"I remember," Elsa says. "It's not an off day. I remember everything, except when I remember nothing… That was nice of her?"

"Yeah," Kristoff nods. "I misjudged her. She's a good kid. Hey, you need the day off?"

"No," Elsa says quickly. "I'd like to work. Gives me something to do."

"Alright," Kristoff replies. "It's your choice. You know, you would have fewer off days if you would…"

"No," Elsa cuts him off. "I'm not going to give people more reasons to hate me. I'll be fine. I always have been." She straightens her shirt absently.

* * *

 **AN: well, here's chapter two. For some reason, the second chapter always gives me trouble. First one is super easy. All you have to do is write something interesting enough to make people want to read a second chapter, and set up the broad, overarching, plot. Easy. Anna wants to talk to Elsa. Don't need to know why, just need to know that she does. It'll be easy to turn that into a bigger arc. But the second chapter? You have to start fleshing out the world, and setting up side plots and smaller conflicts and blehhhhhh. I hate writing second chapters. Anyway, reviews/favorites/follows are appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

"Elsa?" Kristoff asks gently. "I was up real late last night. You good working alone today?"

"Um?" Elsa glances over at Anna, "um."

"Goddamnit," Kristoff sighs. He kicks the espresso machine, and Elsa jumps. She looks swiftly down.

"I'm just worried," she says. "I… people don't seem to treat things like me like- well, like people. I don't want to be responsible for people refusing to pay, or vandalizing your shop?"

"You know, it makes it worse that you're making sense," Kristoff grumbles.

"Sorry," Elsa says automatically.

"I can do it," Anna volunteers. "I mean, Elsa can make the coffee, right? That's the part I don't know. I'll take the register?"

"Sure," Kristoff shrugs. "You're hired. Minimum wage. You'll be here every weekday after five- that'll give you time to finish your classes, right?"

"You're hiring me long term?" Anna squeaks.

"Yes," Kristoff says. "If you'll take it. I need someone to babysit Elsa… that came out wrong."

"It's fine," Elsa says quietly.

"Of course I'll take it," Anna replies. "I was just surprised is all. No one's ever hired me before. You want me to bring you a resume? I mean, it will be a kinda short resume, but…"

"Why the hell would I want your resume?" Kristoff asks. "You're already hired."

"Oh," Anna nods. "I guess. What does Elsa make?"

"About double," Kristoff grins maliciously.

"Double?" Anna stares intently at the dead girl. Elsa studiously refuses to return the look. "How's that fair?"

"She makes good coffee," Kristoff shrugs. He turns to leave, then adds, almost an afterthought, "by the way Anna, you'll have to clean the oven. Elsa doesn't go near it."

"Why not?" Anna asks.

"Don't," Elsa snaps. She turns to the espresso machine and starts brewing.

"That reminds me," Kristoff says. "She doesn't seem to eat or drink, but she likes coffee smells, and she likes the warmth, so I usually let her make coffee for herself whenever she wants. You can have a few free drinks too, I guess." He leaves.

"So," Anna says after a moment. "You like the warmth? Uh, warm things? You like warm things?" Elsa holds out her hand wordlessly. Anna hesitates a moment, then presses the back of her hand to Elsa's open palm. Elsa's pale, dead, flesh is cool and clammy, like raw meat left on the counter for a few hours. "Oh," Anna says. "Must be hard." Elsa shrugs. She sits- at the same table as before- and wraps her hands around her freshly brewed beverage.

Anna joins her at the table. "What is that?" She asks.

Wordlessly, Elsa slides the drink over. Anna takes a sip. "This is really good," she says.

"Thank you," Elsa replies.

"No," Anna says. "I mean, like really really good. Like, you could work anywhere you want. That kind of good. Why here?"

"People- things- like me have to work three times as hard for half the pay," Elsa says. "And lesbian litches have to work nine times as hard as that." Elsa doesn't sound bitter.

"I didn't know you were…" Anna giggles.

"Is that a problem?" Elsa leans forward. The lights flicker and dim. "Sorry," she flinches. The lights come back on.

"No!" Anna hastens to assure her. "Not a problem. Um." She toys nervously with her hair. "So, the lights?"

"Magic," Elsa says. "Sorry. It gets away from me sometimes."

"So it's true then?" Anna asks. "Litches are witches?" She looks terribly proud of herself.

Elsa sighs theatrically. "Did you think undeath was natural?" She asks.

"Well, no," Anna says. "But…" she's cut off by the door chime. Elsa stands and moves to the counter. She rejoins Anna at the little table once she has resolved the order, but she makes no move to restart the conversation.

"So," Anna says. "Um?"

"Um?" Elsa looks up. There's a shadow of grim resolve in her clear eyes.

"Yeah," Anna sipps from the cup Elsa had left. "Sorry," she chokes out. "I forgot that was yours." Elsa shrugs, so she goes back to her original line of questioning. "So, how exactly does one become a litch? None of the press releases are terribly clear on that."

"A certain, very old, magical ritual," Elsa doesn't meet her eyes. "There are many things that go into it, but the important thing is it requires a sacrifice."

"A sacrifice?" Anna snorts. "Really? Like what? A lamb or something?"

"Not exactly," Elsa frowns. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Alright," Anna holds up her hands in mock surrender. "Um. Next question. Those numbers on your arm?"

"No," Elsa stands abruptly and vanishes into the back.

"Sorry," Anna calls out. She buries her head in her arms and wonders how she keeps fucking up. More importantly, she wonders how she can stop.

* * *

 **AN: Sorry this chapter is so short. It was going to be longer, but that seemed like a good place to end it. Sorry also that I have been updating (all of my stories) so slowly. I've been working on a thing, which I am considering putting up on amazon *or something* nebulous plans to become filthy rich... somehow... anyway. So that's been all of my time. Sorry. You probably don't care. I would say that it doesn't bother me that you don't care, and that I'm going to talk about it for another few paragraphs regardless of whether you want me to or not, and that there is nothing you can do that could stop me, but the fact of the matter is that you totally can leave whenever you feel like. Please don't? I need my readers... Love me please...**

 **I'm in a weird mood and should probably stop before I scare away any more of you. Better yet, I should have the good sense to delete this entire AN and start over, but let's be honest with each other- I'm just not going to do that. *scampers back into my hole***


	4. Chapter 4

"Elsa?" Anna calls. "You ok back there? It's been a few hours?"

"I'm all right," comes the prim reply.

"Can I…" Anna pokes her head around the double swinging doors. "Can I come back? I made you a thing?"

"If you want," Elsa says, so Anna pushes eagerly through the doors, carefully balancing her creation.

"Right," she says brightly, "so, I was thinking, I make a mean smoothie, and no one can be sad if they have a smoothie, but I didn't know what fruits you like, so I just kept adding stuff, and then I remembered that you like warm things, so I microwaved the bejesus out of it and I don't know if you'll like it, but…" she presents a massive, steaming mug of fruit mush.

Elsa laughs. It's a high, clear, beautiful sort of noise, and for once, her pale face doesn't seem to carry the weight of her long decades. "That sounds strangely delightful," she smiles. "I don't eat, not any more, but it smells… interesting. And uh. It's warm?"

Anna passes over the concoction with a face-splitting grin. "So," she says. "Whatcha doin?"

Elsa takes the tall mug gingerly. "I'm not doing anything," she says. "Just… just being, I guess."

"Just being?" Anna asks. "That's…" she frowns. "That's so sad. That's like, just waiting to die."

"Except I'm not going to die," Elsa says. "Not ever."

"Except you're not going to die," Anna agrees. "That's so sad."

"How is it sad?" Elsa demands. "Every time someone dies, there's this huge funeral, weeping all around. Even in movies, sure there's this theme that it was 'just their time' or that 'they passed peacefully,' but in nine tenths of those movies, they stress that they're 'in a better place,' and most of them have that character come back later as a ghost or something, and give comfort to their loved ones. Moana? Star Wars? Harry Potter?" Elsa huffs, and the lights flicker. "Sorry," she says automatically.

"That's not what I meant," Anna says quickly. "I just thought it seemed sad that you were just sitting here? Like, I don't know? Like, you need hobbies. You need stuff for fun?"

"Oh," Elsa replies. "Sorry. You hit a nerve."

"I can see that," Anna laughs uneasily. "So," she holds the door. "Back to the front?"

"Sure I guess," Elsa agrees, and walks gracefully past. She leaves Anna's creation discreetly in the sink.

"You want the TV?" Anna asks, but she's already turning it on. Elsa shrugs noncommittally.

"...concerns of plague," the voice says. Elsa doesn't glance up at it, but Anna does. "Tests have been inconclusive so far, and some scientists insist the corpse flu doesn't exist, but President Wesselton claims that we need to take precautions against infection. Proposition ninety seven goes to vote in…"

"Corpse flu?" Anna asks skeptically. She joins Elsa at the little table by the slate fireplace. "Is that like swine flu?"

"Apparently only two people have died from it, but you know how people get with their hysteria," Elsa shrugs.

"And it has nothing to do with corpses?" Anna frowns.

"Why would it?" Elsa laughs, but it's not the same joyous laugh from before. More, wry and cynical. "I bet they find a way to spin it so it comes back on… people like me."

"Probably," Anna agrees. "Must be hard."

"I've dealt with it all my life," Elsa shrugs again. "My unlife too, or whatever you want to call it. First it was for having Jewish parents, then it was for being a woman, then being gay, now for being dead."

"Wow," Anna nods. "You've really gotten the short end of the stick your whole… existence?" She stares expectantly at Elsa. "So," she says, and Elsa jumps a little.

"So," Elsa agrees.

"You don't want me to ask about how people become litches?" Anna tilts her head. Her voice doesn't sound accusatory or judgmental.

"I don't mind," Elsa shrugs. She sits oddly, tiredly, but straight-backed and elegant. "Not really. I'm just, worried that you would be alarmed." She bites her lip, and wishes she could feel it. Anna makes a little "go on" motion, so Elsa sighs again and continues. "The ritual is an old one. In its simplest, most basic form, it was an old Egyptian burial ritual, meant to help their kings live in the next life. Sacrificed slaves, piles of gold, canopic jars, you know the deal. Didn't work as intended. Sure, the Egyptian kings have their 'next life' but not in any sort of other world, and not a real life. Those were the first litches, I guess, but they're not much like me. They're shadows of who they once were. Half-personalities in rotting, dessicated corpses, who can't remember what millennium it is, much less who they were. The ritual, when I learned it, had been much refined; we didn't need piles of gold, we didn't need to carve out our organs," she snickers at Anna's horrified expression, but composed herself almost before Anna notices. "I could do the ritual while I was still alive- that helped with keeping hold of who I am. Some. But ultimately, the ritual draws its power from the sacrifice. That's a general rule of magic- if you get something out of it, you have to lose something equal to it. At least. Well, living forever is a pretty great thing, worth more than a few lifetimes. Even if someone were to find my phylactery, I don't think they could kill me. Yes, the ritual takes human sacrifice. Lots of it. Oh, don't look at me like that; I didn't kill them."

"Then how?" Anna is leaning back, Elsa can feel the fear pounding through her veins. So easy to reach out, and grasp that fluttering little heart… Elsa pulls quickly back into herself.

"Anna," the litch sighs, and holds up her covered wrist. "Jewish parents…"

"Oh my god!" Anna leans forward, and her fear dissipates like fog on a sunny day; not quickly, not tangibly, but without transition or boundary it's gone. "You poor thing! So that day…"

"My off day?" Elsa supplies.

"Is that what you call it?" Anna squints. "On your off day? That was German you were speaking?" Elsa nods, and Anna continues. "So what causes your… off days… is it something that will happen again?"

"Yes," Elsa bows her head a little, and lets her hair cut her off from the world. "Traces of the old ritual. It wasn't perfect when it was invented, and it's not perfect now. Sometimes, if you don't use your magic enough, it gets all backed up in your soul. You've tied yourself- I've tied myself to magic, used magic to bind my soul to a material thing, so now I'm. I guess you would say I'm a creature of magic now? That it takes a constant flow of magic running through my soul to keep this old body moving. No, I don't require constant sacrifices or anything like that. That would be ridiculous, but I did die in Dachau. Gassed then burned. Do you know what it feels like to be dead but aware? Feeling your flesh crisp and pull away from your bones even though you can't move, not even to scream?" She says it with a sort of brutal nonchalance. If she were to let herself feel anything, well, reality is such a fragile thing sometimes, and the magic calls to her. "My phylactery anchored my soul here. Did what it was designed to do. It rebuilt my body, but I'm dead, and I'm not here. Not really. _I_ am in my phylactery. This is just a corpse kept moving with ancient necromantic magic, and when I don't use my magic often enough, it gets backed up, and I forget things, and I get confused."

"Oh my god," Anna breaths. She says it again like a mantra to ward away the bad thoughts, but her imagination has always been extremely capable. "That's… can I give you a hug?"

"If you must," Elsa's voice if flat and emotionless. Anna leans across and holds the frail litch close. Elsa's shoulders are bony, her wrists thin.

"What don't you use your magic?" Anna demands. She has pulled back some, but keeps her hands on Elsa's shoulders.

"I don't like for people to be afraid," Elsa looks at her lap and holds very still. "They already don't like what I am, why confront them with the knowledge? Why force them to look at something different?" She spits out the words like they're poison. "My magic isn't bright lights and pretty noises, Anna."

"Oh," Anna says. Her lip trembles, and her eyes look glassy. Elsa wonders if she's getting sick. "Is there anything I can do to help?" The human asks.

"No," Elsa replies simply, and pulls back. She shakes off Anna's hands, and moves to the counter.

"Oh," Anna frowns, and stands. "So, erm. Literally any other topic? Um. So, the Egyptian mummies? They're the first litches?"

"More or less," Elsa replies. She works the espresso machine with practiced grace. "Not true litches of course. Not aware enough. Just glorified zombies, really, but that's where the ritual comes from. The first was a man named Nagash, who wrote the nine cursed tomes of necromancy."

"Huh," Anna says. The door chimes, and a customer comes up to the counter.

"Elsa," he smiles warmly. He's old and hunched, wrinkled and liver spotted. His cane clicks on the tile floor. "You look good."

"You always say that, Pabbie" Elsa gives a small, empty smile.

"Eh, I'm getting senile," he chuckles. "Soon, I'll be old enough to kiss you and get away with it- just a dirty old man, too old to know any better."

"You always say that too," Elsa replies.

"Hey!" Anna pushes up her sleeves and wedges herself in front of the old man. "You mess with Elsa and you'll get my boot up your…" she blushes, but the fury doesn't go out of her face.

"Up my what?" The man leans forward. He has an alarmingly large nose. "Up my ass? Heh. Like to see you try, kiddo. I fought in the war. I bet I could take twelve of you, even now!" He raps her shins with his cane, and Anna hops back, cursing. "Elsa," he grins. "Think you found a keeper."

"What war?" Anna squeaks.

"Yes, Pabbie," Elsa prepares a second drink.

"Oh, don't look so glum, girl," he leans heavily on the counter.

"But," Elsa splutters. "I don't know if she's…" she leans across the counter, and whispers something.

"Elsa," he says sternly. "She's gay as Sunday and twice as pretty. I'm a love expert, you know."

"You've said that," Elsa grumbles. "How's the family?"

"Loud and multiplying," Pabbie replies.

"Ok, I'm confused," Anna says. "Who's this? What's going on?"

"He used to be a GI," Elsa turns to Anna. "Met him overseas."

"Oh," Anna nods sagely. "That war."

"Yeah," the little man agrees. "That war. Would you believe I almost felt bad for my part in it until I met our little Elsa?"

"Pabie," Elsa groans.

"So you took care of her?" Anna leans eagerly forward.

"In a manner of speaking," Pabbie agrees. His voice is low and gritty, like a pile of gravel. "But I'm getting old, and she isn't. Ah. Elsa, you need to find your someone." He glances meaningfully at Anna.

"Your usual," Elsa replies curtly, sliding the paper cup across to him.

"You need to cheer up too," he says, taking the cup. "If you're not careful, the wind will change, and your face will be stuck like that forever, and that's a lot longer for you than it is for me." He winks at Anna, jabs her shin with his cane, and hobbles out.

* * *

 **AN: well, this was going to be a lighthearted coffee shop AU, but… ah well. Also, couldn't help myself with the reference. If you know it, you get a smiley face sticker. Also also, I'm aware that my pabbie is a bit OC. didn't really know what to do with him...**


	5. Chapter 5

"Elsa!" Anna bounces into the little shop. "Elsa Elsa Elsa!"

Elsa looks up with a small sigh. "Anna?" Elsa prompts primly.

"So," Anna slides into the chair across from her. Elsa winces at the sound the chair's legs make against the concrete floor. Anna leans forward, smiles brilliantly, and continues, "you've prob'ly heard I'm a journalism major?"

Elsa hadn't, so she shrugs noncommittally. Anna smiles like that's a yes and barrels ahead. "Can I write a thing about you?" The energetic Human asks.

"I would prefer you didn't," Elsa replies, and considers reheating her cup- she can barely feel the heat in her old, numb, fingers when it's scalding, and nothing at all when it's lukewarm and cooling towards actively distasteful.

"Oh," Anna wilts. "Why not?"

"Because," Elsa sighs. "Things like me can rarely afford to draw attention to themselves."

"I really wish you wouldn't call yourself a thing," Anna grumbles. "You're a person too, even if your heart doesn't beat… come to think of it, _does_ your heart beat?"

"My heart doesn't beat," Elsa confirms.

"Still," Anna insists. "You're not just a thing."

"I'm a flesh puppet," Elsa retorts. "This isn't even where my soul is."

"Okay," Anna says slowly. "First, ew, gross, can you not refer to yourself as a flesh puppet? And second, um…" she thinks for a second. "To be honest, I didn't really have a second, but I guess, this- erm, this flesh puppet- isn't really you then. You're not a thing. You're an Elsa. And the fuck do you mean you can't afford to draw attention to yourself? It's not like you can die. You said it yourself. You can't afford not to draw attention to yourself. Make people- uh, humans- make humans realize that you're here, people like you are here, and you're not going away, and maybe, just maybe, they ought to sit down and learn about you?"

"Anna," Elsa complains. She twists her hands together. "There's more than one sort of death."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Anna snaps. "You done with that?" Wordlessly, Elsa slides the cup to her.

"Anna," Elsa sighs after a moment. "I'm not brave. Even knowing I couldn't die, with a tangible, if undesired, field test… Anna, I could have done something."

Anna sips the coffee, smiles slightly, but then the smile fades as an idea seems to come into her eyes. It seems to Elsa that Anna is wrestling with something, though Elsa can't imagine what.

"Maybe you could this time," Anna says seriously. "Do something, I mean. Let me write something about you, and maybe we can show people a bit of the truth? I'm sure, if people really knew you…" she trails off hopefully.

Elsa scowls darkly. She stands, and makes her way to the espresso machine, but her hands shake on the levers and she doesn't make anything.

"If people knew I was here," Elsa says after a moment. "I don't want to be followed home. I don't want people harassing me at work. I don't want anyone burning down my home. I can't…" she shrugs brokenly, catches glimpse of Anna grimacing. "I can't deal with it all again."

"You seem… awfully torn up about whatever it is you think you should have done," Anna replies. "Maybe you'll get some closure? Besides, it's not exactly like you're hiding here…"

"I…" Elsa trails off. She sighs, and looks down at the espresso machine- not quite surprised that it's there, but more wondering how she had gotten there. Elsa comes back to the table. "If you must," she says. "But I get to read it before you try to get it published anywhere."

"Sure," Anna agrees.

"And if I don't like it…" Elsa knits her hands together.

"Then doesn't get published," Anna agrees again.

Elsa stands there for a moment. "And I get some say as to where it gets published," she says quickly.

"Alright," Anna nods, and nudges the chair out with her foot. Elsa sits gracefully, if reservedly. "So," Anna says. "Mind if I ask you some more questions?" Elsa shrugs, so she continues. "How did you become a litch? I know it was during the Second World War, but when? How did you learn necromancy? When did you decide to become a litch?"

"No," Elsa snaps. "Not today. I don't want to talk about that today."

"Yeah," Anna agrees carefully. "I guess there are some bad memories there. Sorry. What about what it's like to be a litch?" A customer pushes through the door as she says that.

Elsa shrugs uncomfortably. "One moment." She stands, and moves to the counter. "Welcome, ma'am," she greets. "Can I get anything for you?"

"Not from you," the woman snaps, and pulls the collar of her shirt up over her nose. "Disgusting corpse." Elsa shrinks into herself, doesn't offer up a word of defense, but then there's Anna, wedging herself aggressively between the woman and the counter.

"How dare you?" Anna hisses. "How fucking dare you? Do you know what all she's been through?" Anna shoves the woman aggressively. "Fuck you lady. It's _your_ kind that's not welcome here. Get the fuck outa here- I don't want to go to jail tonight."

"Go to jail?" The woman frowns. "Why would you?"

"Because ima smack the shit out of you," Anna snarls. "How dare you? She's a holocaust victim. Hasn't she suffered enough? Fuck you lady."

"Anna, it's fine," Elsa murmurs.

"Well I…" the woman huffs. "I don't want to eat with a corpse anyway." She storms out.

"Yeah," Anna nods firmly. "Fuck her. C'mon Elsa, say it with me. Fuck her."

"Fuck her," Elsa repeats quietly.

"You need a hug?" Anna asks. Elsa shrugs, so she steps in and wraps the pale litch in a warm embrace.

Elsa pulls away after a short moment, and moves back to her favorite table. "You asked what it's like to be a litch?" She sighs.

"Are you up for that?" Anna asks. Elsa shrugs, so Anna motions for her to go on.

"It's cold," Elsa says. Anna has produced a small notebook from somewhere. "I don't feel much of anything anymore. I guess it comes from being dead? Maybe my nerves don't really interface with magic all that well, so that's why I don't really feel things anymore? I don't know. It doesn't seem to affect my eyes or my ears or my nose… started when I died the first time. Maybe sight and hearing and smell are part of the original rituals, and touch was tacked on later? I don't know as much about the intricacies of ancient necromancy as I would like." Elsa shrugs and continues. "I like the heat because then at least I can feel something. It reminds me that I'm not entirely dead. Not yet. It takes a lot, for me to feel it that is. A lot of heat. That's why I like coffee; I can feel it, I can smell it, I feel almost human again. People were offended when I ordered coffee and didn't drink it, so I learned to make it myself. I'm rambling. Just an old dead girl, rambling on about the most meaningless little things."

"I think it's important," Anna insists. She makes a few more quick marks in her notebook and looks up. "Have you ever met any other litches? Did they talk about the numbness at all?"

Elsa shakes her head. "There aren't many of us. I think I've met a few like me, but we never spoke, and I'm not completely sure that they were."

"All right," Anna agrees. "What's it like, with the numbness? How does that affect you?"

"I have to check myself in the mirror," Elsa replies. "To make sure I don't have any damage I didn't notice getting. I heal slow, and I have- had- to make sure I don't give myself away. Nowadays, I guess I do it because it's a habit. And because I don't want to alarm anyone. And I guess I want to look nice or, at least, not shabby. It's always the worst after my off days. When I'm absent minded like that, there's almost always something, and it's terrible trying to figure out what, wondering if I missed anything, wondering if anyone saw while I was not myself."

"That sounds awful," Anna bites her lip. She thinks for a minute. "Do you brush your teeth?"

They go on like that well past closing time and late into the night. Whenever there's a customer, they pause while Elsa makes their order, and continue again when she sits back down. There are some topics that she resolutely refuses to speak about, others that make her hide in her long white hair, but mostly she does her best to answer any questions Anna has. Every time Anna gets an answer out of her, every story Elsa tells, seems to give rise to a dozen more. Eventually, Anna nods off. She doesn't know if Elsa does or not. Anna dreams of litches and black magic.

* * *

Anna wakes with a start, checks her watch, and sees that it is morning. She groans, and glances about herself. The bed under her feels hard- well of course it does. It's just a small pallet of folded blankets on the cold concrete. Where… of course, the coffee shop. She's in the back, she realizes, nestled between the unopened crates of coffee mix but she doesn't remember getting up from the table.

Anna checks her pocket quickly, is relieved to find the hard rectangle outline of her notebook. She clambers slowly to her feet, bracing herself on the towering boxes, and pushes out to the front. There's Elsa, at the counter like she always seems to be, shirt pulled straight and tucked neatly into her skirt. Something about the way she stands seems wrong somehow, back like a board, hands unmoving.

"Elsa?" Anna asks gently. "Are you ok?"

"I," Elsa frowns like she is trying very hard to remember something. "Anna?"

"Yes," Anna says. "That's me. What's wrong? Is it an off day?"

"An off day?" Elsa repeats. There's confusion thick in her voice like moss in a cloudy pond. "Does…" her face lights up like she has just solved the great mysteries of the universe. "I'm supposed to be in the attic? It's a day that I need to go to the attic?"

"What?" Anna asks. "The attic? What are you talking about? What attic?"

Elsa points toward the roof meaningfully, though the shop has only a single floor. "The attic," she repeats hopefully, like a drowning child clinging to a raft. "In case the…" she searches for the word. "In case the… the gestapo?"

"Shh," Anna moves closer. She had been intending to deliver a comforting hug, but Elsa shies away, and Anna can't quite figure out how to signal her good intent. "Shh," she repeats. "No gestapo. That was a while ago. It's two-thousand-twenty, not nineteen-forty-something."

"Oh," Elsa says. She straightens her shirt, worries at her lip. "But… no attic?"

"No attic," Anna agrees. The door chimes.

"What would you like to order sir or ma'am?" Elsa recites. She smiles and turns to Anna, whispers conspiratorially, "I'm good at remembering."

"I can see that," Anna says as gently as she can. "Kristoff?" She glances pleadingly as the big storeowner pushes his way through the door.

"It's ok Elsa honey," Kristoff says gently. "You did good."

Elsa beams. "I did good," she whispers to herself.

"Elsa," Kristoff approaches the counter slowly. "Can you take a rag and wipe down all the tables? Be careful you don't miss a spot." Elsa nods solemnly and sets herself to the task. "It's an off day, isn't it," he says once she's distracted.

Anna nods uncertainly. "I think so," she says. "You want me to make sure she gets home safely?"

"Are you willing to stay with her until she's herself again?" Kristoff crosses his arms. Anna jerks her head yes, so he continues. "It usually takes all day. Is that all right?"

"That's fine," Anna says.

"All right," Kristoff agrees, makes a note on a scrap of paper and passes it over. "Here's her address. It's only a few blocks away. She has a key, but you'll probably have to remind her."

"I'll take good care of her," Anna vows.

"Good," says Kristoff. "Make sure you don't startle her when she's like this. She's a gentle one, but magic is dangerous and she's not as careful as she usually is when she gets scared. Look, she's nearly finished. Wait 'till she's done." They watch for a few minute as the litch carefully cleans each table, a small frown of concentration on her face.

"I didn't miss a spot," Elsa announces proudly, as she returns to the counter.

"Good job sweety," Kristoff smiles at her. "Anna's going to take you home now, all right?"

"But I did good," Elsa insists. "Ich habe es gut gemacht."

"You did good," Kristoff agrees. "And now it's time for you to go home." Elsa frowns, and opens her mouth a few times, so Kristoff goes on. "You did so good you get the day off."

"Oh," Elsa thinks for a moment. "Day off?"

"Yes," Anna agrees. "That's why I'm going to take you home."

* * *

 **AN: Fun fact, a degenerative condition called "Chronic Neuropathy" does something similar to what Elsa described. It's not a great thing, not that I speak from experience or anything (is sarcasm)... Anyway, as always, reviews, favorites, and follows are appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

"Elsa," Anna says, "you've got a key, right?"

"Um?" Elsa bites her lip and looks around. She pats her pockets absently. "Anna?"

"That's me," Anna agrees.

"Ok," Elsa smiles, but the smile melts away quickly. "I don't have a key. I'm supposed to have a key?"

"Did you check your pockets?" Anna asks.

Elsa frowns, and pats her pockets again. She passes over the key with a sheepish grimace. "I…" she trails off. "Kristoff?"

"Yes Elsa?" Anna asks as she unlocks the door. It's made of warped, green painted wood, but the paint has peeled away at the edges and faded where it hasn't peeled.

"Kristoff said I did good?" It takes Elsa a few moments to figure out what she had wanted to say.

"Yep," Anna agrees. She wants to give Elsa a hug, but the litch keeps glancing over her shoulder and shifting from foot to foot, so Anna decides against it. "That's why you get the day off," she says instead.

Elsa eyes Anna hesitantly. It had looked like she was about to get a hug, but then it didn't happen. Elsa thinks she remembers liking hugs but she isn't sure. She wonders if there's a way to get that hug after all, but Anna is motioning her into the little apartment, and she follows hesitantly.

It's not a shabby place- Elsa keeps it clean and free of clutter- but she has few belongings to make it feel lived in, and many of the lights are dim or flickering. Elsa stands awkwardly between the little living room and adjoining kitchenette and gives a little nervous flap of her arms. "My apartment," she mumbles. "This is… I think it's my apartment? I'm sorry. Es tut mir leid."

"So," Anna frowns gently. "What do you do?"

"I…" Elsa thinks for a moment. She sits primly in one of the battered wooden seats because she dimly recalls that humans don't like to stand for too long. "I make coffee?"

"I meant 'what do you do for fun,'" Anna says, and pulls over the other chair. "You don't have a table?"

"No table," Elsa confirms. "Um?"

"Right," Anna sighs. "This is going to be a long day. But don't worry, we're going to get you some hobbies before it's over." Anna stands and pokes her head into the single bedroom. Small, hard, bed and an old armchair. There's a battered, leather-bound book peeking out from under the foot of the bed.

"Hobbies?" Elsa follows slowly.

Anna frowns, and kneels by the bed. "What's this?" She holds up the heavy tome. The pages are yellowy and uneven.

"Hide it," Elsa demands. She bites her lip and bustles over. She flaps her hands with a sort of peculiar desperation.

Anna slides the book back under the bed. It doesn't seem to have a title. "Better?" She asks.

Elsa shakes her head vigorously. "Hidden better," she demands.

"Ok?" Anna squints. She puts the book in her satchel and buttons it closed. "Does this work?"

Elsa eyes her uncertainly, and then nods firmly. "Better," she sighs.

"Alright," Anna says. "Good. I'm going to IKEA. You need furniture. Are you good alone?"

Elsa squints. She straightens her shirt. "Kristoff said I'm good?"

"Good," Anna smiles. "I'll be back soon. Don't leave your apartment. Um. Here's my phone. This is the YouTube app. Look, cat videos. Everyone likes cats doing stupid stuff. I'll be back soon. Just… just keep clicking next video until I'm back. Did you get all that?"

Elsa screws up her face in concentration. "Next video?" Anna nods. "No leaving?"

Anna nods again. "Awesome," she says.

* * *

Anna has some trouble navigating the stairs with the heavy box, but she manages. The door gives her some trouble as well, but she had left it unlocked so she manages that too. For a moment, Anna worries that Elsa has wandered off- it was a spectacularly poor idea to leave her alone- but no, there she is standing in the center of the living room, giving the phone a concerned frown. Anna sets down the box.

"What's wrong Elsa?" She asks.

"The cat," Elsa replies. "He just… keeps jumping. And it keeps not working. Um? It keeps…" Elsa straightens her shirt.

"Oook," Anna says. "Um. Anyway. I got a table. You want to help build it?"

"Table?" Elsa asks. "Um?"

"C'mon," Anna says. She rummages through the box and produces a small bag of screws. "Here, hold this. Be careful not to drop any."

"I'm careful," Elsa agrees, and holds out her hands. "I don't drop things."

It takes them a few hours to build the table. Elsa doesn't drop any of the screws, and she always hands over the right one though it sometimes takes her a little while to figure out which one that is.

Anna puts in some real effort into finding Elsa a hobby. She tries video games, board games, movies, fingernail painting, music. Everything is met with the same blank stare or earnest, slightly befuddled, concentration. Anna hopes it's just because it's an off day, because the alternative is just too sad for the little litch. Eventually the sun starts to set, and with it, Elsa seems to run abruptly out of energy. She yawns hugely, mutters something vaguely reminiscent of "bed" and totters into the back room.

"Bed," Anna repeats. "Of course." She sighs. "Fucking crazy ass Litch." She sighs and follows Elsa to the bedroom. "Oh hell no," she says when she sees Elsa laying primly on the center of her bed, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse in a casket that's open for viewing. "You were just telling me about not taking care of yourself on an off day," Anna scolds. "Shower."

"Shower," Elsa agrees absently.

"You need to get up to shower," Anna says.

"Up," Elsa replies, and stands.

"Shower," Anna points towards the bathroom. Elsa wobbles a little as she walks to the bathroom. She forgets to close the door, so Anna screws her eyes shut and slams it blindly. She hears the shower come on. Anna jots down a few notes about the day while she waits. If only she can remember it just right- she's sure that no one could possibly hate the lonely little litch if they saw how adorably helpless she was.

"Elsa?" She asks after a moment. "You're not drowning, right?"

"Not drowning," Elsa gurgles back after a moment. Anna goes back to her notes.

The litch emerges a few minutes after, sodden clothes dripping all over the carpet. Anna groans. "Did you take off your clothes to shower?" She asks. Elsa nods. "Why are they all wet then?" Anna demands.

"Shower," Elsa says. She bites her lip and thinks for a moment. "Shower?" She frowns.

"All right," Anna replies. She rubs her eyes. "Fine. Get changed." Elsa looks at her oddly, head cocked like an owl's, so Anna elaborates, "Get out of your wet clothes and put dry ones on."

"Clothes wet," Elsa looks down at herself and agrees. "Um?"

"Take off the wet ones and put dry ones on," Anna repeats. "How does Kristoff do this?" Elsa's hand go jerkily to her top button.

"Oh," Anna says, turning her back to the litch. "You're going to do it right here. Ok." She hears the distinctive slap of wet clothes hitting tile, waits a moment longer, then turns back. She had expected Elsa to be clothed again, but there the little blond litch stands, naked as the day she was born- however long ago that may have been. Elsa is skinnier than Anna had expected; her ribs stand out starkly against her pale sides, and the sharp edges of her hips strain against her skin. Her arms and legs are thin like twigs, and grotesque, silvery, scars pattern her back and sides like a tiger's stripes. A flash of rage ignites in Anna's heart- like she's always imagined it would feel to be a dragon just about to breath fire. She wants to take whoever did that and… she's not sure really. Something violent, but no; they're long dead. Of old age, or of the trials for their war crimes. Anna sighs, and flexes her freckled hands. "Oh Elsa," she sighs and closes her eyes, less to preserve the litch's modesty than to get away from those horrible scars but they stick in her mind and refuse to let her go. "Clothes, Elsa," she says.

"Clothes," Elsa agrees, and Anna can almost hear the little frown of concentration in Elsa's voice.

"Are you dressed?" Anna doesn't open her eyes.

"Clothes," Elsa agrees again, so Anna risks a glance. Elsa is wearing a faded old tank top, and long floofy pants.

"Good job," Anna says.

* * *

When Elsa wakes the next morning, she finds herself wrapped around Anna. Who am I? Elsa. Litch. Witch. Barista. Where am I? Her own shitty little apartment, except… where did that table come from? At least it isn't an off day…

"Anna," She asks. "Where did this table come from?"

"Huh?" Anna mumbles groggily. "Wassit?" She nuzzles into Elsa and the litch tries very hard not to pay attention to exactly where Anna's head is resting. "You're soft," Anna mutters.

"Thank you," Elsa replies automatically. She gently pushes Anna off of herself anyway. "Did you paint my nails?" She scowls.

"Was tryin to find you a fun thing," Anna rubs her eyes and sits up. "Oh my god I'm so sorry I didn't mean to sleep on you and please don't hate me?" The words come out in a waterfall rush.

"I don't hate you," Elsa says, lying carefully still and enjoying the pitter-patter feel of Anna's heart in the intangible winds of magic. "You painted my nails blue? Baby blue? Really?"

"It looks good," Anna insists, and scrambles off the bed.

"Huh," Elsa says. She considers her hand dispassionately. "We didn't… do… anything last night, right?"

"Um?" Anna blushes furiously. "No, I wouldn't. I mean, not with you… not that I… I wouldn't be against it… but. Ahem. Didn't do anything. You don't remember?"

"I never remember my off days," Elsa slides smoothly out of bed and casts about for acceptable day clothes. "Thank you for the table."

"Oh," Anna shuffles awkwardly. "You're welcome. I mean. No trouble, really."

Elsa gathers up her clothes with a sort of mechanical efficiency, and retreats to the bathroom. "Do you know if Proposition ninety seven passed?" Elsa asks from behind the closed door. "I had meant to vote, but…"

"Yeah, you had an off day," Anna agrees. "I don't know if it passed or not. Why's it matter? It's just some anti plague stuff."

"Stuff like provisions to make sure that corpses are disposed of appropriately," Elsa opens the door. She's dressed well, if a little too modestly for Anna's taste. A tight-fitting grey knit woolen sweater, pleated blueish skirt, and shiny black flats. Elsa straightens her sweater unnecessarily.

"I guess," Anna shrugs. It's a conscious effort to keep her eyes on Elsa's pallid face. There are hints of freckles, long buried by her undead pallor. She hadn't noticed them before. "Isn't it mostly stuff to give the CDC more scope, set up additional clinics, things like that?"

"Mostly," Elsa grabs her keys. "It all seems pretty reasonable, except there's that one line that says families have three days to claim a corpse before the government takes care of things themselves. That's a euphemism, by the way, not unlike Germany's 'final solution'. I'm worried they might count me as an unclaimed corpse."

"Oh damn," Anna puts her hands to her mouth. "Jesus. I. That couldn't happen here. Not in the U.S. we're not Nazi Germany."

"I hope you're right," Elsa shrugs, "but that's what we thought all those years ago in Germany too."

"We're better than that," Anna says fiercely. She checks her phone. "The Proposition passed. Doesn't mean they mean it like you're thinking."

"I hope not," Elsa replies. "I need to get to work. Do you have class?"

"Not today," Anna says. "I'll go with you. Keep you company and stuffs. Unless you'd rather be alone or something?"

"I wouldn't object," Elsa says.

* * *

 **AN: Elsa's off days are hard to write, hence the delayed chapter, but I'm not unhappy with how this chapter turned out. As always, Reviews make sure that future chapters are better, so if you enjoyed, it's in your interest to help make sure that you enjoy future chapters even more. I won't get upset with criticism, and I'll never tire of complements, so both ends of the spectrum are awesome.**

 **On a related note, I've been blown away by the support for this story. Ten follows per chapter thus far? Wow. I never thought I would have anything this popular. Especially considering how odd all my stories are… A huge, heartfelt thank you for everyone. Give yourselves a big hug from me.**


	7. Chapter 7

Elsa is hunched over her favorite table, face mostly hidden by her hair. She can feel Anna's eyes on her back, but nothing else. Elsa doesn't say anything- Anna lurks in the doorway to the little coffee shop's little storeroom as if she thinks Elsa would send her away if she knew. But Elsa won't send her away; after all these years, to have someone here, watching her? So what that Anna doesn't seem to like her the same way, at least Elsa isn't alone right now.

Her hand moves over the paper and the charcoal smudges just so. The television drones on in the background. "...formation of a group known informally as the 'Plague Police,' to help the CDC enforce their new scope…" Elsa tries her best to ignore it. To ignore how close it sounds to the words that led to those horrible black numbers on her wrist. She's tried to get rid of them before, but they won't go. Same as those terrible scars. Elsa doesn't understand it; in the past, she's been able to do away with blemishes and scars- her magic was strong, when she still used it- but the marks of her time in Dachau refused to fade. Her hand twitches, and the charcoal leaves a mark that's just a little too dark for her taste. She sets it aside and works on blending in the too-heavy line.

"...stealing jobs from us good, living, Christian folk," President Wesselton is on the television now. Must be some kind of speech. "They had their time, why can't they have the decency to leave the world to their descendants like everyone else? They're…" Elsa scowls and tunes him out. She can feel Anna shifting uncomfortably.

"I won't bite," Elsa says quietly, but she can tell from the way she feels Anna's spine stiffen that her words were heard.

"Oh," Anna says. "Right. Um. Sorry? Mind if I join you?"

"Not terribly," Elsa replies nonchalantly though she wants nothing more right now. Anna clomps over and drops clumsily into the opposite chair.

"So," Anna says, and gestures to the television. "Looks like you were right."

"I'm trying not to listen," Elsa risks a glance at Anna's sunny face. The eyebrow just like so… she corrects a line.

"...would never rip apart a good Christian family, even if one of them _is_ dead. Unclaimed…" Elsa's grip tightens, and the lump of charcoal cracks. She sets aside the smaller piece.

"Elsa," Anna gives a worried frown.

"Would you…" Elsa swallows necessarily, and thanks the stars she can't blush anymore. "Whatever it means to claim a corpse, legally that is, would you please?" She goes back to her paper and charcoal.

"Of course!" Anna says. "I'll take care of it today, right after work. I don't want to see you taken away."

"I don't think they necessarily would," Elsa says hopefully.

"Just in case," Anna beams. "Not your first rodeo." She regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth.

"Not my first rodeo," Elsa agrees. "It won't come to that."

"Good," Anna says. She thinks for a moment. "Why won't it?"

"Because the universe owes me a goddamn break," Elsa snarles. She composes herself quickly. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize all the time," Anna says. Elsa shrugs. "You like dancing?"

"Not really," Elsa makes sure not to look up, in case something in her face gives her away. "You always have to dance _with_ someone, and it's never really been socially acceptable to dance with the people I want to dance with."

"Well," Anna huffs. "It is now, and anyway, screw other people. They suck. So, some friends and I are going out dancing tonight, and I was wondering…"

"I see," Elsa says. She can't let herself hope. Not after the last one, all those decades ago.

"Is that a yes?" Anna's heart flutters like a hummingbird's wings.

"Sure," Elsa says. The door chimes. She looks briefly up, but it's only Pabbie. "Your usual?" She asks.

"No," the old soldier hobbles over to her table. "This ain't the America I fought for," he says without preamble, and Elsa is shocked by the rage she hears in his voice. "Are you alright, Elsa?"

Elsa worries for his heart, the way it pounds with his anger. "As I've ever been," she replies.

"Look kiddo," he sits wearily at her table. "Oh, that's very nice."

"Thankyou," Elsa says, and tries to cover her drawing. Anna cranes her neck, and peers down at it.

"Oh my god Elsa," the redhead gasps, "that's incredible. That's freaking… goddamn. Is that me?" Elsa nods meekly.

"Our Elsa's always been gifted," Pabbie grins. You should've seen some of the sketches she did back in the war. Only thing left of some of those brave kids now. I almost envy them. Don't have to see what that toupee wearing freak has done to our country."

"Yeah," Anna smiles kindly at Elsa. "You're pretty incredible, you know that?"

Elsa shrugs awkwardly and goes back to her drawing. "It felt like the least I could do for them," she says. "It's been a while, but you were talking about hobbies and I got out my old supplies. So Pabbie, you don't want coffee, what brings you?"

"I can't just want to see my favorite litch?" The old man winks and Elsa shrugs. "Nah," Pabbie continues. "You're right. I came to give you something." He passes over a bundle of old beige rags. "I figured I won't be needing it anymore and my kids wouldn't appreciate it. They weren't there."

"What is it?" Elsa asks, as her slender fingers pick apart the wrappings. Dark, shiny steel and battered wood.

"Luger," the old man says. "Picked it up from, well, I'm sure you can guess. I know you've got your magic, but I don't know how well you can use it to defend yourself? I'd feel a lot better if I knew you had this."

"I don't like guns," Elsa wraps it again quickly.

"I don't either, but I think he's right. You could carry it," Anna says. "Better safe than sorry."

The steel seems to call to Elsa. The hint of murder, long ago. Lots of it. The gun had been used for terrible things…

"It made it through two world wars," Pabbie is saying. "An old gun for an old lady. Please, for me?" Elsa scowls, so Pabbie goes on. "I pulled you out of that ditch," he says, and something dark and cloudy comes over his eyes. "Everyone in my squad thought we should leave you, but I made sure you could come. I helped you get to America. I've never asked for anything in return. Do this for me, please, and I'll count us even."

Elsa's spine stiffens. She holds very still, and then slowly reaches out and takes the old gun. "Very well," she says. "For you."

"It's not loaded," Pabbie says. "How about you and I go to the range next weekend and I show you how to use it?"

"Fine," Elsa picks up her charcoal but her hand shakes- so much death in the old metal. So much. An idea comes to her, but Anna or Pabbie? Would either hate her for it? Would it really matter if they did? The door chimes again.

It's Kristoff, his burly arms full of paperwork. "Elsa," he says, and drops the bundle on the increasingly crowded table. Elsa scoots her chair back.

"Kristoff," she says.

"You watching the news?" The big man asks. Elsa shrugs, so he goes on. "You know proposition ninety-seven?" Elsa nods. "You want me to, uh 'claim' you?" He says the word "claim" like it's made of rat poison.

Elsa glances at Anna, glances at the stack of paperwork.

"Go ahead," Anna nods. "You've known Kristoff longer."

"Sure," Elsa says. "Thanks. I… thank you all. I just don't want anyone to." She stops for a second. "In Germany, a lovely couple hid me and my parents in their attic. They're dead now- not of old age. I don't want the same thing to happen to you all. I don't… Kristoff, Anna, thanks, but I'll be fine. Please don't…"

"You're being silly," Anna replies. "It won't come to that. We don't even know if that stupid proposition was meant like that, and the plague police might just be for… it might not be like you're thinking."

"And if it is," Kristoff growles, "we'll leave. Go to Canada or something. But that won't happen, and right now, we just want to make sure that legally, there's no reason for anyone to give you trouble."

"I," Elsa says. "Thank you all so much. I don't deserve people like you."

"You do," Anna insists.

"You deserve better'n us," Pabbie laughs. He stands slowly, and Elsa can feel his joints protesting. "I better go," he says. "Promised my grandson we would go get ice cream. I only really came in to give you that." He hobbles out the door, cane clicking rhythmically.

"Give you what?" Kristoff's eyes glitter with interest beneath his blonde brows.

"Nothing interesting," Elsa says. "Just an old trinket from the war."

"Oh," Kristoff replies. It doesn't sound like he wants to let it go but he does anyway. "I took the liberty of filling out the paperwork already. There wasn't much of it, and the proposition doesn't go into effect for a few days, but I wanted to be proactive. I'll take care of everything. You don't need to worry." He stands, and gathers up his papers. "I'll be in my office if you need me." He shoots a conspiratorial wink to Anna, and a gentle smile to Elsa.

Elsa scoots back in, and leans forward onto the table.

"So," Anna says. "We're going to need to get you some clothes that aren't all frumpy if you're coming dancing with us. Fortunately, we're about the same height so I can give you some of mine. Are you more a leather girl, or nylon?"

"No," Elsa smiles, and drops her head into her arms so that Anna can't see how hard she's trying not to laugh. "Neither, please. What about good old American cotton?"

"You mean like a t-shirt?" Anna scowls. "Oh no no no no."

"I mean like a good and proper blouse," Elsa replies, and tries very hard not to think about what she was wearing when she woke up next to Anna.

* * *

 **AN: short chapter, took forever to write, sounds about right. At least I'm not as bad on this story as one of my others… Anyway, reviews are story food, and I love them so much.**

 **I write these chapters on my phone and ducking autocorrect keeps "fixing" words into the wrong tense. I noticed a few in previous chapters, and went back and fixed it, and I'm trying to pay better attention now. If you notice any that I've missed, I would be very grateful to know- I've always thought that fanfics with tense disagreement were lazy, so it's a little hypocritical for me to have a story with tense disagreements...**


	8. Chapter 8

"Just a minute?" Elsa yells, and checks to make sure the bathroom door is locked. She's in Anna's little apartment and regretting her life choices. Why did she ever agree to go dancing? With Anna? There's the answer of course, but she knows she will be disappointed and she knows there's no way in hell she'll have the courage to wear that dress. The offending garment lays innocently on the sink, black on the white porcelain.

"Is everything ok in there?" Anna asks from the other side of the door.

"YesI'mfinedontcomein," Elsa says quickly, curses herself. Keep it together girl, you've been through worse. It's just a dance and it's just a dress- regardless of how slinky it may be. She takes a deep unnecessary breath and seriously considers escaping through the window. Temporary solutions to permanent problems are a lot less attractive when you live forever though and she reaches out shakily for that stupid dress. This is ridiculous; standing there in her bra and panties, donning the dress would actually make her more decent, not less. Why is she so damn afraid of a stupid piece of cloth? She picks it up. Her hands shake a little as she struggles into it- so form fitting. It has a high neck and back. Elsa is grateful that the high back hides her scars, and that the high neck doesn't force her to show any cleavage, but it's sleek enough that it doesn't leave much to the imagination and it has no sleeves… the bottom at least leaves her room to move her legs and swishes down by her shins but still. Elsa slips on her shiny black flats, and wishes she had something for those horrible numbers on her wrist.

"Elsa?" Anna calls through the door. "Is it an off day?"

"No," Elsa replies quickly. "Almost ready!" This was such a terrible idea. She opens the door and bites her lip. Anna gasps; Elsa can feel her but it's a small enough expression that she can't really see any movement or hear any air move. That's just about the only thing she actually likes about her magic. "Do you have gloves?" She asks, because to dwell on that little gasp is to dive down a veritable rabbit hole of second guessing and insecurity.

"Gloves?" Anna frowns. "Why would… I'm so freaking dumb. Your Auschwitz tattoo." The little redhead wears a pair of shorts, like blue jeans cut so high they're almost a belt, and a strip of cloth wound around her torso from just below the tantalizing dip of her cleavage to just above the edge of her rib cage. Elsa tries very hard not to look. Her feet. Those are safe, right? Anna wears calf high boots of brown leather with tufts of white fur at the tops.

"Dachau," Elsa corrects quietly, keeping her eyes safely on the boots.

"Yeah, I'm an idiot," Anna says. "Also, here." She rummages through a drawer and produces a pair of elbow length black silk gloves. "I've got kinda a thing for clothes," Anna shrugs.

"Thankyou," Elsa replies and pulls them on so quickly she's faintly surprised they don't rip. She would blush but her blood doesn't flow enough for reactions like that. She supposes that's another nice thing about her magic. "Shall we?"

The dance club is within walking distance, so they walk. The air is brisk- not that Elsa notices- and the walk is pleasant enough at first. Then they hear yelling- faintly, from a few long blocks away. It sounds like some sort of repetitive chant. As they get closer, they can just make out "death to the dead!" Over and over again, shouted from a hundred raw throats. Elsa grimaces.

"Elsa," Anna croaks. "I'm so so sorry. I didn't know. We can…"

"It's fine," Elsa cuts her off, dead eyes fixed ahead. Her hands tighten reflexively.

"I would have picked somewhere else if I knew," she says. "I promise Elsa, I didn't know." Her voice trembles a little at the end, but Elsa can't tell if that's because of the cold or her emotions.

"It's fine," Elsa repeats.

Anna bites her lip. She wants to hug the frail little litch. To hold on and not let go until the world decides to just let her be, but no. Where Elsa had looked too skittish to hug on her most recent off day, this Elsa looks too hard. Too cold. Dead and closed off. "Elsa," Anna says because she doesn't know what else _to_ say. "Elsa, you're beautiful?" As if she could be so bold. "Elsa, not everyone is a piece of shit?" She doesn't think the litch would hear it right now. "Elsa I think I love you?" She doesn't want to scare Elsa away.

Anna doesn't say any of it. Just "Elsa," and reaches for her pale dead hand. She has to work to get her fingers intertwined with Elsa's- the litch doesn't open her fist- but Anna is determined to show _some_ affection so she manages. With her left hand, of course; Anna thinks she might need her right for punching.

"I don't want to do this," Elsa whispers, and Anna is pretty sure she isn't meant to hear.

"If you let them stop you then they've won," Anna says because it sounds terribly wise to her.

"I," Elsa closes her beautiful blue eyes. "Is that really so bad? Do I really have to win? I could just go home, and let them be. I'd be happy, they'd be happy." She starts to turn, but Anna's hand stops her. Elsa blinks a few times. "I'm sorry," Elsa says. "I'm such a coward."

"You're not," Anna says and very much looks forward to punching some people. "You're the bravest person I know, and I can't even begin to imagine what all you've gone through. C'mon, I promised 'Punzie I'd introduce you two." Anna wishes for a second or two that she had let Elsa run home, but this will be good for her, right? Anna tells herself that her eagerness to take Elsa to the dance has nothing to do with her own selfish desire to dance together and everything to do with altruism. Or something. It's a flimsy excuse. She tugs lightly and Elsa takes a reluctant step in the right direction. Then another.

There's a crowd around the next street corner. More a roaring mob, waving signs and staked felt figurines of the Count from Sesame Street. "That's not even the right sort of undead," Anna protests, but a glance at Elsa's frozen face shuts her up. The mob seems to be facing away- toward the club, Anna thinks. She swallows.

Some of the protesters seem to be wearing regular street clothes, but many wear black shirts emblazoned with the words "death to the dead," or "your rights stop when your heart does," and a crude picture of a broken skull or staked heart.

"How does someone wearing a skull actually believe they're the good guy?" Anna wonders aloud.

Elsa grimaces. "The Nazis did too," she says. "No one ever thinks they're the bad guy."

"Well," Anna says. "They're stupid. You ready?"

"No," Elsa confesses.

"They won't know you're a litch," Anna gives her hand another squeeze.

"They will if you keep saying it," Elsa grumbles, and wishes she had thought to bring the gun Pabbie had given her. She doesn't protest though, when Anna tugs her into the mob.

At first, the crowd doesn't seem to notice them. As the two women delve deeper though, the demonstrators around them seem to assume comradery. They give encouraging smiles and gestures, someone hands Elsa a shirt. Anna halfheartedly smiles back, and then abruptly they're through.

The dance club is a little red brick building sandwiched between a deli- closed at this hour- and a strip bar. People slip unimpeded into and out of the strip bar, but a ring of grim-looking men and women wearing nylon and leather form a protective half-ring around the entrance to the dance club. They face outwards toward the protesters, linked arm in arm. The name of the club- The Lime Dive- blazes neon behind them, as do the words "Undead Welcome." There's a sort of semi-circular no-man's zone between the two groups but though it's empty of people, it's full of hostility.

Anna pulls the litch quickly across to the grim-faced defenders. Arms shove them roughly back, but Anna yells "we're here to dance," and they let her through. The two women duck gratefully into the club's little atrium.

"That was… sorry about that," Anna says.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to go somewhere else?" Elsa asks, and realizes she's still carrying the shirt. She looks around for a place to drop it but nowhere convenient presents itself. She frowns and balls it up.

"Probably," Anna shrugs. "I didn't think of that. You see 'Punzie?"

Elsa shakes her head, so Anna leads her into the club proper. It's not as crowded as Elsa had thought it would be. She supposes that has something to do with the mob outside, and perhaps a little with the ring of people standing guard at the door. Anna's friends are nowhere to be seen, so the little redhead waves to one of the baristas and pulls Elsa to the brightly lit, granite topped bar. They sit.

"Marsh!" Anna says when a hulking man in the Lime Dive uniform sidles over.

"Anna," he grins. His face is as big as the rest of him, heavy jawed, but split with a friendly grin. "This the girl you won't shut up about?"

"Marshmallow," Anna whines. Not for the first time today, Elsa is glad she doesn't blush.

"That's what brothers are for kiddo," he grins. "Elsa, right?"

Elsa nods uneasily, and reclaims her hand from Anna's reassuring grip.

"Don't worry about _them_ ," Marshmallow says. He makes 'them' sound like the sort of insult that wars are fought over. "We called the cops. They don't have permits or anything. Didn't file with the city, you know? They'll be cleared out in a bit."

"You're not worried?" Elsa has to muster all of her bravery to ask.

"Pfah," Marshmallow scoffs, and Anna giggles. "It's not the first time idiots have tried to protest the bar and it won't be the last. In ten years everyone will be shocked that anyone ever thought like _them_. Their grandkids, if they ever have any, will be shocked that their grandparents were deadists just like I was when I discovered mine were racist."

"Or when we discovered our parents were homophobes," Anna snorts, and gestures at the empty bar in front of her. "Where the hell is my drink?"

"Jesus Anna, you've got a problem," Marshmallow rolls his big eyes grabs a bottle from somewhere under the bar. The siblings interact with a sort of practiced strife that Elsa has difficulty following. There's something paradoxically peaceful in it though. "Yeah," Marshmallow continues, "bit of a rude awakening for them when they found you in bed with the girl next door, wasn't it Anna?"

"Kill me," Anna flushes the same color as her hair and drops her head into her arms. "Or get me my drink." Marshmallow laughs, not unkindly, and slams a glass down in front of her.

"Anything for you?" He asks Elsa.

She shakes her head and asks, "you mean Anna's…"

"Gay?" Marshmallow looks between them and laughs. "You kids really need to sit down and talk things out. She's gay, you're gay, fucking hell, I thought you were already dating."

"Kill me," Anna begs, and downs half her glass.

Marshmallow pretends to think about it for a second. "Nah," he says. They can dimly hear sirens in the background. Marshmallow turns back to Elsa. "Girl next door was always coming over- what was her name?"

"Fuck off," Anna swallows the rest of her drink and gestures meaningfully at the empty glass.

"No," Marshmallow winks at Elsa and she finds herself smiling slightly. "I don't think that was it. Elsie, was it?"

"Nooooooo," Anna groans.

"Yes," Marshmallow hisses cheerfully. "I think you have a thing for names like that. Anyway, she was always coming over, our parents thought it was Elsie and I. Sat me down for a real serious chat, when we hear this squeaking sound from upstairs. Like someone was jumping on the bed, you know?"

"Kill yourself in the butthole," Anna waves her glass impatiently. Marshmallow refills it.

"You..." Elsa raises her eyebrows. "While your parents were home?"

"Well I didn't know they were home, now did I?" Anna scowls. "Marshmallow, don't you have anyone else to serve?"

"You get off easy this time," Marshmallow grins evilly and moves back down the bar.

"Sorry about him," Anna says, and Elsa is faintly surprised she can speak around her embarrassment.

"It's fine," Elsa smiles. "He's nice. It's clear he really cares about you."

"Wish he would care a little less," Anna grumbles. Just then, her blond cousin joins them at the bar.

"Eugene," the newcomer waves. "They're here already!" Her boyfriend joins them, smiling roguishly.

"Rapunzel," Anna flaps her hand in the girl's general direction. "My cousin and best friend. Eugene, her boyfriend and all around good guy despite what he'll tell you. Elsa," Anna smiles at the litch. "Erm, dead girl. Be nice to her." Elsa waves shyly.

"Heya," Eugene grins. "Heard a lot about you."

"Sorry," Elsa says quickly because she's not entirely sure what the situation warrants and the apology leaks out before anything else.

"What the hell for?" Eugene scowls and claps her roughly on the back.

"Eugene," Rapunzel warns. Her boyfriend steps back quickly. "Remember what we talked about with AHEM," she gestures outside, "and personal space for YOU KNOW?"

"Sorry Elsa," Eugene mumbles.

"No Olaf today?" Anna asks.

"Homework," Eugene shrugs. "Nothing to do with GTA until five in the morning. He really wanted to meet you, ya know," he directs this last at Elsa. The litch looks away quickly.

"Well, maybe next time," Anna stands unsteadily.

"Next time?" Elsa squeaks.

"Of course," Anna grins broadly. "If that's all right."

"We like having you," Rapunzel smiles. It seems to be an artificial expression, but not because she doesn't mean it. Rather, like she's watching her expressions very closely to be as welcoming as possible.

"Now," Anna grabs Elsa's hands abruptly, misses how the litch gives a startled jump. "I think I'm just drunk enough to get out there and make a real fool of myself."

They dance.

Rapunzel and Eugene spend some time at the bar and then join them on the dance floor, but it can't properly be said that they dance _with_ Elsa. Or Anna, for that matter. It's very clear that Anna is dancing _with_ Elsa, and anyone who intervenes is likely to get stabbed. Elsa tells herself that she's reading too much into it. Anna doesn't like her that way- no one could like a dead thing like her that way. Anna's just a carefree girl having fun with friends. Nothing romantic at all. It's fun though, and Elsa mostly lets herself enjoy it. She had worried that there was an actual dance she was expected to learn, moves that she could screw up, but there doesn't seem to be anything of the sort. Anna isn't coordinated, and she doesn't pretend to be. She stands there and flails cheerfully, vaguely in time with the music, and it doesn't take Elsa long to join in. Elsa is more reserved, and more structured. Her movements are vaguely reminiscent of a ballerina, but tamer and with less energy. Her movements don't really mesh with Anna's, but they go with the song and no one seems to mind in any case. The shirt Elsa had been given lays, mostly forgotten, on the granite counter until Marshmallow discreetly removes it. Who knows, maybe his coworkers will help him get it on a mannequin and hang it from the rafters later. The patrons sometimes appreciate a piñata…

Anna, Elsa, Eugene, and Rapunzel dance until closing and by that time, the mob has cleared off. They, in the unspoken manner of friends everywhere who are not quite ready for the night to end, walk Elsa home, laughing and chatting all the while. When Elsa sleeps that night, it's with a smile on her face. For once, she doesn't dream of unjust laws and unforgiving secret police. Tomorrow, she tells herself, she will get to see Anna again and for once she isn't stuck on all the ways it could go wrong.

So of course tomorrow is an off day.

* * *

 **AN: as always, sorry this took so long. Hopefully the length makes up for the delay. Someone decided to give a very favorable review of this story on Reddit, and I was really really happy, and really really grateful, and said review helped some people find this story, and wheeee… so I wanted to write a really really good chapter so I would deserve the really really kind mention of my story on Reddit and that's way too many reallys and I sound a little like a rambling Anna and shitting up now… sorry…**

 **Anyway, follows/favorites/reviews make me write better and faster...**


	9. Chapter 9

Sirens blare in the distance. Elsa frowns and winds her hands together. She's going to work, she remembers that, and the intersection looks familiar, but she can't quite remember if she's supposed to turn here or not. And if she is supposed to turn, which way? Elsa looks around again, even though she knows it won't help.

"Anna?" She croaks. "Help?" Anna doesn't answer. Elsa supposes that might have something to do with the fact that Anna isn't actually there, but why isn't she? Where's Anna? Or Kristoff, for that matter. He's been nice to her, right? Elsa glances around again- there's the Arby's, she remembers the Arby's… pedestrians are giving her odd looks. Elsa knows she's been standing here too long. And there's a reason why she can't afford the attention, she just can't seem to remember it. She fights down a rising feeling of despair. Why can't she remember? What's wrong with her? Stupid, worthless little dead thing. No one could ever love you. That's probably why Anna isn't there.

Elsa sits down on the curb and tries very hard not to cry. She needn't bother, because her old dead eyes can't cry anyway, but she doesn't remember that right now. The siren seems closer. That's not good, she knows, but she doesn't remember why- stupid dead thing, why can't you remember anything? Her mother had always said to trust the police- they're there to help you- but didn't the police take her to Dachau?

That, at least, she can remember. The hunger, that claws at your belly and leaves a horrible, empty pit. That you can never really forget, even when the guards are beating you. That is always there, regardless of how much dirt or bark or sawdust you try to eat. Elsa had made lists, she remembers, of all the foods she wanted to eat when she finally got free. Some days, it was everything with strawberries in it, scrawled into the margins of a Bible. Pages and pages of strawberry foods. Strawberry shortcake, and strawberries and cream, and strawberries on Belgian waffles. Other days it was all kinds of bread on the back of a page of propaganda, banana bread, and zucchini bread, and sourdough and French baguettes, and bagels with cream cheese, and cinnamon and raisin bagels, and…

Except she hadn't escaped, had she? She died, burned in a furnace- not like she would ever forget that. She died, and this isn't her first body though it shows the same ugly tattoo and the same crisscrossed scars. She died, and now she doesn't eat, and her hundreds of pages of food had gone up in smoke with her.

Someone's shaking her. Elsa yells, and throws herself back. "No!" She shakes her head violently. "Nein, Nein!"

"Miss?" The man says kindly, holds up blue gloved hands. Elsa blinks, and tries to focus on him. He's tall, and broad shouldered. Short dark hair, and Asian features. He wears a uniform of some sort.

"Please no," Elsa begs, "not Dachau. Please."

"Dachau?" The man frowns. It takes him a moment to continue. "The old Nazi concentration camp?"

Elsa holds very still, as if he maybe can't see her if she's still enough.

"I'm not a Nazi," The man says and it's clear, even to Elsa, that he's trying not to laugh. Maybe he's telling the truth? "My name's Shang. I'm a paramedic. Are you alright ma'am?"

"Alright," Elsa repeats quickly. "Don't need you. Alright," she says again, just in case he didn't get it the first time.

"Right," Shang agrees, "you look pretty healthy." Elsa smiles shyly, and he continues. "You mind if we take a few vitals real quick, just to make sure?"

"Vitals," Elsa says.

"Just measuring pulse, oxygen, pressure, things like that," the man holds his hands up disarmingly. "No needles, see?"

"No needles," Elsa agrees. There's a large white vehicle parked next to her. It's covered in flashing lights, and they seem much more interesting than the paramedic. A woman comes out a door in the side. She wears the same uniform, has the same short dark hair and Oriental features. She carries a huge blue bag, and some sort of blocky machine.

"Anna?" Elsa asks hopefully. "You know where Anna is?"

"Shang, she retarded?" The woman asks as she approaches.

"Mulan!" The paramedic hisses.

"Sorry," the woman says automatically. She bends down and attaches things to Elsa- some sort of band around her upper arm, and a little sleeve thing for her finger. Elsa doesn't understand, but Shang's patient smile keeps her calm.

"You always like this?" Shang asks.

Elsa shakes her head. "Off day," she says, and thinks for a minute. "It's not always an off day? Um. Um. Can't remember things on off days. Usually better. Sorry. Off day?"

"Sure," the paramedic nods. "Do you know what causes your off days?"

"Tight," Elsa grumbles, and pulls at the cuff, but the woman holds her hands still.

"Patient is pulseless and apneic," Mulan yells abruptly and tears open one of the bag's many pockets.

"Mulan," Shang sighs. "Treat your patient, not your monitor."

"Right," Mulan agrees. "Sorry. So…"

"So take it manually," he prompts.

"I'm alright," Elsa says, but is promptly ignored. "Kristoff said I did good," Elsa mutters.

"Uh, you're gonna kill me," Mulan says, her fingers on Elsa's wrist. "I can't find a pulse manually either."

"The hell're they teaching EMTs these days?" Shang growls and places his fingers on Elsa's wrist. "Have to teach you everything in the field, but don't worry, I'll make a proper medic out of you. Huh." He shifts his grip. "Huh," he says again. "Miss, I'm going to touch your throat, all right?"

Elsa leans back wearily. "I'm alright," she protests weakly. Shang puts his fingers on her throat.

"Huh," he says. "Ma'am? Do you have any sort of heart implant? A ventricular assist device, maybe?"

"No devices," Elsa frowns. "Heart doesn't beat," she adds helpfully.

"Your heart doesn't beat?" Shang raises his eyebrows. "Mulan, you want to call medical control for me? Ma'am, why don't you think your heart beats?"

"Heart doesn't beat," Elsa repeats slowly. She frowns and thinks for a moment. "I don't breathe?"

"You don't breathe?" Shang frowns. "You mean you have sleep apnea?"

"No," Elsa looks around. "I… where's Anna?"

"I don't know any Anna," the paramedic says. "What do you mean you don't breathe?"

"I…" Elsa opens and closes her mouth a few times like a fish out of water. "Because dead?" She smiles like she has just won a very close race.

"You're… Dead?" Shang goes pale. "Mulan, hold off on that call."

"Dead," Elsa confirms. She holds up her wrist shyly. "Died. Dachau. Please, no."

"You died," Shang repeats.

"Died," Elsa confirms again. "Don't make me go back."

"Back to Dachau?" The paramedic frowns again while Mulan lurks at his shoulder. "What year do you think it is?"

Elsa shrugs uncomfortably. "Off day," she says. "Bad at years on off days. I'm. Um, is it forty?"

"Nineteen forty?" Shang glances at his partner. "No, it's twenty-twenty."

"Oh," Elsa mumbles. "Was close."

"She's a freaking litch?" Mulan says. "Shang, she's a goddamn litch."

"I kindof figured that out," Shang growls.

"Well," Mulan gives a frustrated gesture. "What're we going to do?"

"We're supposed to call the plague police," Shang says, and Mulan cuts him off.

"Not going to happen," she growls. "I got into this job to help people."

"I agree," Shang scowls. "Miss, is there anyone we can talk to?"

"Anna?" Elsa says hopefully. "Um. Kristoff?"

"Is Kristoff your boyfriend?" Shang asks. "Mulan, get county to send us a cop. Ask for seventy-one-seventy-one. If he's not working today, tell them not to bother. You got that?"

"Not my boyfriend," Elsa says. She thinks very hard. What was she doing… work! "My boss," she says proudly.

"Got it," Mulan says and returns to the cab of the ambulance.

"Your boss," Shang nods absently toward his partner and gives a vaguely positive gesture. "Where do you work?"

"Coffee?" Elsa frowns. "I… I make coffee?"

"Good!" Shang smiles. "Do you know where?"

"Um?" Elsa's lip trembles like she's going to cry. "Near? I… trying to find? Um. And no Anna? And…" why is it so hard to remember? What's wrong with her, pathetic little dead thing? "And no Anna but ich liebe Anna." She wants to say more, but she doesn't know what else she's supposed to say.

"Alright, that's fine," Shang says. Mulan reappears, and a minute later, a police cruiser pulls up.

The man who steps out is short and stocky, like a brick in a police uniform. "Eyy," he says, and his voice is like gravel. "What we got here? Need me to arrest the rookie?" He cracks his knuckles.

"That won't be necessary," Shang says quickly. "You're brother in law is dead right?"

"Who wants to know?" The officer glances around militantly.

"We have a litch patient," Mulan gestures to Elsa. "You know what's wrong with her?"

"Ahhh," the officer shuffles over toward Elsa. Elsa scoots back.

"No!" She yells. "No secret police!"

"Heh," the officer nods. "Eyep. It's a stupid day. Po gets em sometimes. Don't worry girl, I might be ugly, but I ain't gonna bite.

"She thinks she's in Nazi Germany," Shang says. "Try be gentle with her. She works in a coffee shop. You know any coffee shops nearby that employ a litch?"

"Yeah," The officer nods slowly. "I think I maybe know a place. Some idiot lady called us to complain a while back, said litch's a shouldn't be allowed to work with food, but there's no law against it, so, ehh."

* * *

"Ey prof," Anna greets brightly. Her professor looks up wearily, glances discreetly about her desk to make sure there isn't anything breakable near the red haired terror. None of the faculty think Anna would intentionally destroy anything, but she has an unfortunate history of tripping around valuable, breakable, objects.

"Anna," the professor says, placing one long gnarled finger on the xeroxed pages to mark her spot. "How can I help you? If this is about the grading curve again, I've already given you my answer."

"Not exactly," Anna replies, and fails to notice her sigh. The redhead holds up her battered satchel hopefully. "I found a thing, and I didn't know how to read it, and I didn't know what language it was in or anything, but you're like the smartest person I know, and you teach college anthro, and I thought, 'I know, I bet professor Gottle knows,' and then I remembered that we also get extra credit for bringing in 'primary sources,' or whatever, and that pretty much settled it?"

The professor casually moves her coffee cup farther away from her student. "You've missed quite a few classes recently," she begins, but Anna cuts her off.

"I know," Anna says quickly. "But in my defense, I met this really interesting litch, and I was trying to primary source, or however you use that word, and it occurs to me that I maybe shouldn't tell everyone?"

"I'll keep their secret," the professor sits forward somewhat.

"Right, well," Anna holds out her satchel gingerly. "I'm kinda borrowing this from her- him, the litch is totally a guy- and HE was totally ok with me borrowing it, I think, but we have to be suuuuuuuper careful not to tear it?" She produces an ancient book, bound in some sort of pale leather. It's pages are uneven and yellowed and covered in strange hieroglyphs. It's the book she had found in Elsa's apartment. Anna sets it reverently on Gottle's desk, but in so doing she knocks into the coffee cup. It teeters. For a moment, it looks like the cup will stay upright but then, with the ponderous slowness of a collapsing tower, it falls and spills its contents all across the aged book. Anna stands numbly still, but the professor hastily blots at the battered cover with a fistful of paper towels- it's wise to have such things easily accessible when Anna is your student.

Miraculously, the cover seems unmarked. The pages too, when the professor gingerly opens it. She furrows her bushy greying eyebrows. "How old is this?" she asks.

"Dunno," Anna shrugs.

"Right," the professor squints. "You got lucky. I thought for sure that it was ruined." She examines the pages. "What is this, Anna?" She asks.

"Dunno," Anna shrugs again. "Can't read it, remember? Can you?"

"Read it?" The professor blinks owlishly. "Maybe?" She turns a few pages. "Jesus, how old is… 'Property Of Nagash, fifth prince of Egypt?' Nagash, Nagash," she rifles through a stack of papers, and enters a few commands on her nearby computer. "Oh," she says. "Ohhh. Anna, you got this from a litch?"

"Yeah?" Anna nods uncertainly. "What is it?"

"The third spellbook of the first litch," Gottle says. "This is… damn."

"Oh," Anna frowns. "That's awesome! Can you translate it?"

"It's in ancient Egyptian," the professor frowns. "And…" she reads more. "Yes, I'll do it," she grins like a cat that has just figured out how to get into a canary's cage.

Anna wonders what her professor read but before she can ask, her cell phone rings. Wh— Kristoff. He never calls her… "I have to take this," she says, pressing the answer icon. "Hey Kris," she says. "What's up?"

"Elsa's here," Kristoff replies without preamble. "A cop brought her."

"A cop?" Anna squeaks. "Is Elsa all right? They're not arresting her, right?"

"No," Kristoff replies. "Elsa's fine. Or, well, confused and jumpy, but… you need to get over here."

"I'll be right there," Anna runs from the room, leaving her professor frowning at her desk.

* * *

 **AN: So, I tend to get follows for a few weeks after posting a chapter. Still getting follows from the last one; if I really want to maximize follows, I should wait to post this chapter until I stop getting follows from the last one, but, well, this chapter is done and I would feel bad holding off posting it...**

 **Anyway, my great uncle fought in the battle of the bulge in the second world war, got captured, and spent the rest of the war in a concentration camp. He used to talk about how hungry he was there, and how he would always write down lists of food he wanted, and it would somehow make him a little less hungry. Fun story. Anyway, Elsa's actions in Dachau are loosely based off of my great uncle's experiences. Kewl story right? Ahem.**

 **As always, Follows/favorites/reviews are awesome...**


	10. Chapter 10

_December 2, 1944_

The allies have kept up a steady bombing campaign, day and night, ever since the luftwaffe gave up control of the skies. Bombs thunder on the horizon, their incendiary fury tearing ugly smoking holes in the snowy countryside that Elsa used to call her home. She can't sleep. She tells herself that it's the ever present rumble of bombs in the distance, or the low growling drone of a thousand engines. Or maybe the voices of the wounded in the medical tent next door. Or the hard, uncomfortable military cots, or the thin tents that do nothing to keep out the wind and the cold. But Elsa doesn't feel the cold. Not anymore. Undead.

Her magic had rebuilt her body when Dachau had burned her but it didn't work quite perfectly. She had known, back when she had first found Nagash's ancient book, that she would die one day. All the magic in the world can't stop that, but the right spells can keep it from being permanent. Bind her soul to a physical object, and the magic would keep pumping faux life into her limbs as long as there were limbs to animate. Become a litch, and even if your body is destroyed, you will keep coming back. That had sounded so wonderful to a little Jewish girl hiding in an attic. She hadn't known about the terrible numbness that would come with death. Hadn't bothered to translate that part before working her spell.

When a new body coalesced from the dust and ash left by those terrible furnaces, that had been dead too. A condition of the soul, not the body, she supposes, though she hadn't known there was a difference. Her new body bears all of the horrible marks of her time in the death camp. That surprised Elsa; she had read that magic can heal anything. That magic can repair any blemish you want gone, but as much as she hates those black numbers on her wrist, she can't make them fade, and her new body shows them stark against her pale European skin.

It doesn't surprise her now. Now, she knows to read the terms and conditions. Now, she knows that magic can remove any blemish that you want gone, but that's a limit, not an infinite expression of power. Her magic can heal anything she wants to heal, can build a new body from ash and dust, but on some sick level those numbers are a part of her. Those scars are who she is. Elsa can tell herself every day, that she wants them gone but somewhere deep down, she knows she deserves them. Just a stupid little Jewish girl, playing with power she doesn't understand.

Someone dies next door. They don't make a sound when they do, but Elsa can feel it. She can always feel it. That had almost driven her mad in Dachau. Well, want not waste not.

Elsa drags her dead limbs from bed, straightens her dress, and pushes through the tent flaps. It's snowing again. A wall of white, whipping through the night and leaving parts of itself everywhere it goes. The chill cuts through Elsa's thin dress but she can't feel it. Barely even notices it.

The nurses look up briefly when she enters the medical tent. The soldiers who are going to make it do too. They're used to Elsa by now. Every time someone dies, there's the pale, shy, traumatized Jewish girl. The 'Angel of Dachau,' they call her. The 'Angel of Death,' when they think she can't hear. Who- a bomber pilot. Burned and broken. He had stayed with his plane, even after it had taken an eighty-eight flack round to the bomb bay. He had held it level while his crew bailed out, even as the fuel tanks ruptured, and the cockpit burned. Elsa wishes she could have saved him, but it isn't to be. Everything you do with magic carries a price. For every wounded soldier she wants to save, someone has to die. Oh, smaller spells can draw their power from the air around, from truncating the lives of the surrounding plants, from herself even as long as she's careful, but repairing a mangled body is no easy thing. The bomber pilot would have liked that his death will save one more soldier.

"Elsa," one of the nurses says. Amilia, the soldiers call her whenever they visit her tent, and they visit often. "Who is it?"

Elsa points numbly. Already, the power is boiling out of the bomber pilot's corpse- Elsa is always careful not to learn their names. She seizes the power, shapes it, who needs…

There, an infantryman who charged a machine gun nest to draw fire away from his squad. Elsa recognizes him, but barely; he was with the squad that pulled her out of the ditch and made sure she got here safely. Bandages cross his face, and his broad chest. His breathing is ragged and uneven, something rattles and rasps as his breath escapes through the perforations in his chest. It's a minor miracle that he's survived this long, and it's going to be another miracle when he wakes tomorrow. Elsa uses the power of the bomber pilot's death to knit the soldier's lungs back together, to heal the tears in his heart, to pull the bullet fragments out of his shredded bowels and fuse them back together. Everyone pretends that the ethereal, sourceless shrieking is coming from the wind.

"Thankyou," Amelia says. "Uh, danke."

"Bitte," Elsa replies, gaze fixed on her battered black flats. They were shiny and beautiful a few years ago, her most treasured possession; she had taken a job waiting tables at the local cafe, but even so, it had taken her four months to save up enough. Now, the soles are worn thin, and the buckles are tarnished. The blacking is rubbed away, and the heels are cracked. They're all that's left of her old life though, so she keeps them. Those shoes, and Nagash's ancient book that is. "You won't tell?"

"I won't tell," Amelia agrees, and pulls the bomber pilot's sheet over his ruined face.

"Elsa," one of the soldiers calls. His leg is a bloody stump, but he's awake and he will live. "We won't tell either."

"Thankyou," Elsa dips her head shyly, and turns to go.

"I have to know," the soldier props himself up with a pained grunt, and his comrades look on in morbid fascination. "What are you?"

"Ich bin ein jude," Elsa says bitterly, and rubs her wrist.

"He meant, how can you…" one of the other soldiers chimes in then trails off awkwardly.

"I…" Elsa looks around quickly. So many people, how will they judge her? Will they throw her out? Will they hurt her? Will they… she stumbles back towards the door.

"No no no," one of the soldiers says quickly. He tries to stand, but falls back into his bed with a grimace. "Don't go. Please. We didn't mean… please…"

Elsa frowns, but hesitates. "I…" she says again.

"It's ok," the first soldier says. "We won't ask if you don't want to tell us. Just, please stay."

"I can't…" Elsa looks around quickly. "Can't save everyone."

"We know," one of the soldiers says. "But you save as many as you can, and that's what matters to us."

"You an angel?" The first asks, and one of his comrades throws a tin of shoe polish at him. "You don't have to say if you don't want to," one of the other soldiers says quickly.

"Not an angel," Elsa says. She crosses her arms over herself. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Amelia puts her arm around Elsa's thin shoulders. Elsa flinches, and draws away, but she doesn't leave.

"We know you've been through some shit," the first soldier says. "Hell, you're just as wounded as the rest of us, just in a different way. Stay, play cards with us, have a little fun. It'll help."

"I…" Elsa looks around quickly. There's none of the judgement or hatred she expected. Just gratitude and pity and the kind of brotherly love and respect that soldiers have for each other. "Ok," she says, because it's easier to go along with them than it is to make up an excuse.

* * *

February 27, 1956

"I'm not a communist," Elsa crosses her arms over herself and presses back into the wall.

"You've got an accent like a commie," the woman waves her cane. "I'm calling the po-lice."

"It's a German accent," Elsa protests. "I'm from Germany. During the war. I…" She wilts under the hatred directed at her. "I…" why can't anyone ever leave her alone?

"Elsa?" A voice calls, deep and masculine. "Holy shit. Guys! Guys come quick!" Elsa dimly recognizes the man. He was part of the squad that found her, right? Back in Germany? A few more men hurry over. They all wear olive dress coats heavy with medals.

"Well I'll be damned," one says. "The Angel of Dachau. My god. I told you we didn't just imagine her."

"Elsa?" A third asks. "You remember us?" The woman who had been harassing Elsa steps back uncertainly.

"I do," Elsa nods.

"You saved my life," says the first. "I never got to thank you…"

"It's fine," Elsa replies quickly, and does her best to melt into the wall behind her.

"It's not fine," The man says. "You did so much, how can I ever…" he frowns, and reminds Elsa of a thundercloud bristling with rage and barely contained lightning. "Is this woman bothering you?"

Elsa shakes her head, but the woman speaks up. "She's a communist! I'm calling the…"

"She's not a communist," one of the soldiers steps in close. "She's a hero, and she saved my life. You have a problem with her, you have a problem with half the goddamn army. Get out of here, and if I ever hear that you're harassing her again, we'll have problems, you hear?"

The woman nods quickly and scurries off.

"Ho-lee-shee-it," the first enounciates. "It's fucking Elsa. You're her. Can I… can I get you a drink?"

"I don't drink," Elsa mutters.

"Well then a sandwich or something," the second soldier says.

"I don't eat either," Elsa straightens her dress. "I'm… a little bit dead. I'll come with you if you want though?"

* * *

July 16, 1969

Elsa looks on in awe. The rocket is a massive pillar of white and black stripes, a structure that dwarfs most buildings. It's wreathed in smoke, mysterious like some great titan from legend. It holds the same air of brooding power too, but hope also. A promise. We may have been born here, this little ball of mud spinning on through the endless void might be our home, but we don't have to die here. One day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day we will set foot on another little ball of rock. And then another. And another, and on and on through the universe. One day, humanity will go to the stars, and Elsa will be there to see it.

The sea stretches out pristine and blue across the horizon like an endless stretch of priceless sapphires. The sky vaults overhead grey and brooding, but it doesn't feel like the impossible dome it does most days. It doesn't feel like a barrier. For all the people watching as history is made, the sky is just another frontier and today mankind will push back against it, just a little.

The launch tower's enormous metal arms retract slowly. The smoke swaddling the rocket rolls and boils like the breath of some fantastic beast.

"We are go for Apollo eleven," the voice says from the intercom. Elsa grins. She's not alone; everyone in the crowd has that same sort of elated energy as they wait for the behemoth rocket to lift off.

"Status board is a go," the voice says. "Pressure is good. Two minutes ten seconds and counting."

There's a girl next to Elsa. Bright, and full of energy like the the sun. She grins over at Elsa. Stupid dead thing, Elsa chides herself, no one could ever love you. She isn't interested the same way you are. Just someone sharing in the excitement of the launch. Elsa smiles back hesitantly.

"Oxidizer tanks on the second and third stages now have pressurized," the intercom says again. "Still showing go for launch across the board. Tee minus sixty seconds and counting."

The girl leans over, and says something that's lost in the roar of the crowd.

"Pardon?" Elsa frowns.

"My name is Ariel," the girl yells.

"Ariel," Elsa dips her head- don't make eye contact. "My name is Elsa."

"Thirty seconds and counting," that voice says. "We are still go for Apollo eleven launch."

"-beautiful," Ariel smiles.

Elsa shrugs. "It is," she says.

"I said YOU are beautiful," Ariel bites her lip shyly, and winds her fingers through her crimson hair.

"Tee minus fifteen seconds. Guidance is internal."

"Thanks," Elsa dips her head.

"Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, ignition sequence start." There's a sound like the end of the world. A roaring, bellowing sound that sets Elsa's teeth rattling, that even she can feel in her cold dead core. "Six," everything else is drowned out by the rocket's triumphant bellowing. The remaining fuel lines fall away. Fire billows from the base of the huge machine like a hundred crimson and orange sheets catching the wind. Slowly, ponderously, as if it were carrying the weight of the world's expectations, the rocket starts to climb into the sky.

"Some friends and I are gonna have a party," Ariel says. "You should come."

"Yeah," Elsa grins. "All right."

* * *

July 16, 1979

"Darling," Ariel smiles wearily as she joins Elsa at the table. Elsa can feel Ariel's joints protesting. It's Ariel's home, but Elsa has had a key for years.

"Happy anniversary," Elsa smiles back. Not quite shyly. Maybe demurely.

Ariel is starting to show some age. She's aging gracefully; her hair is still shiny and smooth though there are a few grey strands at the edges, her face is as bright as the day they first met though work has set a weariness just below the surface and there are the barest hint of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Elsa looks the same as she has for the last thirty-five years.

They don't see each other now as much as they want to. At first, they spent every other night together. Then twice a week as the euphoria of a new relationship wore off. Then once a week, then...

Ariel works a punishing twelve hour a day, six day a week, textile job. Elsa tries to make ends meet playing violin on the street corner, and waiting tables; it's hard to get a high-paying job without an ID. At least she doesn't have to spend any of her measly income on food. These days they manage to meet once a month. Maybe. If their schedules are kind.

"You look good," Ariel says. She always says that, but these days it seems more like a question than a statement. Elsa had known that would happen eventually, but… "you…" Ariel frowns. "You're going to call me crazy, but…"

"But?" Elsa bites her lip.

"You look the same. Like you haven't changed," Ariel says. "At all." It's a statement, but the implied question is obvious.

"That's because I…" Elsa shrugs, and wishes she were anywhere else. "Um, I…"

"It's all right," Ariel says. "Take your time. I'm just… I thought I was going crazy these last few months."

"No," Elsa shakes her head. "No, I'm a litch." She sees Ariel's uncomprehending look, so she goes on, "I… this is hard to talk about, sorry."

"It's all right darling," Ariel says. "Take your time."

Elsa breathes deeply and necessarily. "I grew up in Germany, just before the Second World War. I was Jewish. Um, I found an old book that claimed to be filled with spells…"

"Oh, a witch?" Ariel says. "I thought you said 'litch.'"

"I did," Elsa dips her head and lets her hair cut her off from the world. "But I guess I'm also a witch?"

"What's the difference?" Ariel leans in. "What's a litch?"

"I," Elsa can't bring herself to meet Ariel's eyes- she's sure they're full of judgement and she can't… "A litch is someone who bound their soul to a physical object." It's easier to talk about the mechanics of her curse than she had thought it would be. Easier to talk about hard and fast facts… "As long as that object exists, I cannot die. Not permanently. This body can die, but I will just get another. And another. On and on forever."

"That's wonderful!" Ariel says. She reaches across the little table and gently lifts Elsa's chin. Her eyes are shining, and they don't hold any of the rejection Elsa had expected. "Is that." She thinks for a moment. "Does that have anything to do with the days that you get absent?"

"Yes," Elsa shrugs. "I guess. I'm dead. I don't have a heartbeat, I don't breathe, and I don't eat. The only thing keeping this body working is magic." She gestures at herself absently. There's a little of the revulsion she had expected, but it's gone quickly. Elsa barrels ahead. "I guess it's like there's a magical pipe, or wire, or however you want to imagine it, connecting my soul to my body, but I guess it can get backed up? The book said magic is like water, and if I don't use it for too long, it gets stagnant, and it doesn't flow right, and then my body starts to die- for real. The brain is the most fragile part of the body, and it starts to go first? Enough magic gets through that my body doesn't really fail, but there are problems with my brain, when it gets backed up like that?"

"Oh," Ariel nods slowly. She's taking the news remarkably calmly, Elsa thinks. "So," Ariel says, "why don't you use your magic more? Get rid of your off days?"

"Because it's horrible and terrifying," Elsa snaps, then quieter, she adds "And if you saw it, you would hate me forever."

"I wouldn't hate you," Ariel smiles and rubs her hand gently down Elsa's pale cheek. "Let's see some magic. You'll see, it won't bother me."

Elsa sighs. She leans away, then stands carefully. She raises her hands, and flexes her thin fingers. "What would you like to see?"

"Show me the worst," Ariel smiles encouragement.

"The worst," Elsa repeats numbly. "I can't. Not without… I can't. I'll just…"

"The worst that you can do then," Ariel says.

"I…" Elsa trails off. It's a bad idea. She knows it's a bad idea. But Ariel is the first to return her affections, the first to make her feel wanted. The soldiers she saved say they care for Elsa, of course, but they feel obligated to. Like there's a debt they owe her or something. Theirs is a false adoration; and Elsa knows that she can't refuse Ariel anything, bad idea or not. "All right," she says, and feels for the magic deep within herself. It's there, waiting, ready to GO, like an impatient stallion waiting for a race. She casts about for something to use.

Elsa flexes her fingers again, and lets go. Ariel had a dog when they first met. A huge, friendly golden retriever. Ariel had loved that dog. She had cried for days when it died. Elsa doesn't know how to reach out and seize the soul of something long dead, doesn't even know if it's possible, but she can do the next best thing.

There's a horrible sourceless wail, like a thousand tortured spirits crying out in unison. The flowers in the windowsill wilt, then droop, then turn brown and crumble to dust. The green leeches out of the lawn and a thousand insects drop dead. The house creaks like it's foundation is shifting, and though the light stays as bright as ever, it seems distant and weak and pathetic.

Elsa doesn't know how to bring back the dog's soul but it's body was buried out back. It's not so hard to animate it, give it some semblance of life. It won't live of course, not really, but Elsa is a necromancer, and what good would a necromancer be without an army of the dead. The old Egyptian kings that invented these rituals had planned to live on in another world; what good would that be without servants? The dog's corpse shudders and moves, claws its way up through the turf. It's just a zombie, but it doesn't take all that much agency to make it act like a dog ought to.

Make the thing pant, though it doesn't need to breathe. Make it rub up against Ariel like her dog used to. Make it come when it's called, and play fetch, and go on walks. Dog's aren't complicated. Humans are, and Elsa doesn't think she could make a zombie act convincingly human, but dogs aren't that complicated. The thing comes padding into the kitchen, panting and looking up at Ariel with something approaching adoration.

"F-Flounder?" Ariel stammers. It's eye sockets are sunken and lit with green fire- Elsa chides herself for forgetting to replace its eyes- it's skin is sagging loosely on its dessicated, reanimated bones. It's coat is patchy and grimy, but at least Elsa remembered to get rid of the worms and patch the holes…

The thing woofs and bounds over to Ariel, tail wagging enthusiastically. Ariel stands and stumbles back. "You…" there's fear in her eyes now. Terror. She looks at the thing in horror.

"I can make him go away," Elsa says quickly. "I can undo it."

Ariel looks at Elsa the same way she looked at what's left of her dog. "You," she says again. "You're a monster," she falls back against the wall, recoils when the undead dog comes closer to investigate. "You're a monster! Get out."

"I can make it go away," Elsa pleads. She can't feel anything. No tears in her eyes, no sinking crushing feeling in her chest, no lump in her throat, no heat in her cheeks. "I can get rid of it. We can forget about it. Pretend it never happened. Please." She's hugging herself, as if that could hold her together as her world shatters around her.

"Get out!" Ariel yells, and flails wildly. "Out! Just go!"

Stupid little dead thing, how could she have ever thought anyone could love her? How could she have ever thought Ariel could love her for who she is? How could anyone love a corpse? How could she have thought she deserved to be happy? Elsa rubs her wrist, and takes a few steps back. She makes the dog crawl back into its grave. "I'm sorry," Elsa whispers. "I should never have pretended to be worth anything." She places the key gingerly on the table and leaves; closes the door behind herself and walks down the sidewalk. All those happy houses up and down the street, blazing with happy electric light. All those white picket fences, and happy families with their one-and-a-half children. All that love and acceptance that no one will ever give to Elsa, because when you get right down do it, she's just a stupid little dead thing, playing with power she doesn't understand.

Elsa walks all the way down the street, though she doesn't quite know where she's going. When she hits the end, she turns, and keeps walking. Eventually- she doesn't know how long it takes- Elsa comes to her dilapidated little apartment. She had been so proud of it, so happy to show it off to Ariel. It's hers, she earned it, she can make her life work, can pretend to be human. Not anymore. The plaster is cracked- she had thought that gave the place charm, but now she sees. It's just a run down little place, that no one cares for. No one wants to put in the effort to fix it up. Forgotten and unloved, just like Elsa. It's bare inside; just a lumpy thrift store bed, and a battered clearance dresser. Her old indestructible book on the counter, and her beloved black flats. They remind Elsa of her mother; Iduna had been so proud when Elsa got her job, so proud when Elsa had managed to save up for these little black shoes. They had opened the box together, and Iduna had smiled so broadly when Elsa first put them on, had said "Du bist so hubsch," You are so beautiful.

Elsa takes her beloved shoes, and Nagash's indestructible book. Nothing else is worth carrying. A couple of tattered, faded shirts? She's wearing her favorite one. She always wears her nicest shirt when she visits Ariel. An extra skirt? The hem is torn anyway. More practical, less damaged, shoes? She's already wearing them. Elsa leaves, picks a direction, and walks. When the urban streets give way to interstates, she hugs the side and keeps going. When her shoes wear out, she takes them off and leaves them by the side of the road. When her feet get bloody and torn, she kills whole fields of corn to heal them. When truck drivers offer her a ride, she gives them a rude gesture and keeps walking.

* * *

 **AN: so, giga-chapter. Yay. I considered breaking it up into two installments, but that just didn't feel right for some reason? I wanted to flesh out some of Elsa's backstory, and people have been asking for more information on what Elsa is, so… killing two birds with one 4508 word stone. Hope you enjoyed. As always, reviews and follows and favorites make me happy.**


	11. Chapter 11

"Oh my poor Elsa," Anna says quietly. The litch paces in brisk little circles, winding her hands into the hem of her shirt. Anna thinks she looks like a caged animal desperate to find a way- any way- out. She turns toward Anna at the words and the intelligence behind Elsa's beautiful blue eyes is dim and panicked and uncomprehending.

Elsa is muttering something beneath her breath, but Anna can't quite make it out. Then something seems to connect, a dull half-seeing intellect behind those sapphire eyes but at least there's something there.

"Anna?" Elsa stills for a moment then goes back to worrying at her shirt. "Lost and… worried, and sorry? And didn't mean to wander off, and don't let them take me."

"Shh," Anna steps in close, and glares at the stout police officer. "Shh, it's all right, no one is going to take you anywhere." But Elsa steps quickly back.

"No!" She says forcefully. "I…" Elsa frowns. It's on the tip of her tongue, so she tries again. "I… am not to hurt."

"Not to hurt?" Anna glances at Kristoff. He shrugs. "Not to hurt me?" Anna asks. "I know you won't hurt me."

"No," Elsa bites her lip. "Not to hurt. Can't hurt again. Please…" The last words come out as a whisper. "I'm so tired."

"It's alright," Anna says. The way Elsa stands there, like a bird trying to decide if it's too hurt to fly away, breaks Anna's heart. Like a violent, desperate, sucking sort of breaking. The kind of heartbreak that makes you want to curl up in a corner and sob until it goes away, or maybe just to find whoever's responsible and do terrible things to them. Anna isn't sure which.

Elsa hugs herself, it looks like she's trying to hold herself together. She directs a few worried glances at the police officer, but he seems content to give them their space. Anna steps closer, and Elsa steps back again. The litch looks at her warily, and Anna is torn. Does she hug the litch, or would that scare Elsa even more? Give her some space, or does she need closeness?

"I'm not going to hurt you," Anna says, steps in yet again. "It's alright," before Elsa can back up again, Anna wraps her arms around the old litch's delicate frame. Anna can feel every bone jabbing into her, grinding against its neighbors. Every bone except her sternum… Anna blushes at the fullness pressing against her own narrow chest, but this is about comforting Elsa, and Anna can keep her mind out of the gutter for a few minutes. Probably. "Els," Anna says. Elsa stands there stiffly, unmoving. "I know you've been hurt by a lot of people. I know people have done some really really fucked up things to you, but I won't. I do stupid things, and I make mistakes, and I can't promise that I won't accidentally do something dumb, but I will never try to hurt you. Do you understand?"

Elsa stands still for a long moment. It's odd, Anna thinks, to hug someone who doesn't breathe, someone who doesn't have a heartbeat. Like hugging a doll. "Understand," Elsa's face is screwed up in concentration. "But people are not always… meaning to hurt. Sometimes…" she has to pause every few words to keep on track. It's clear that it takes a monumental effort, and Anna is careful not to interrupt. "Sometimes, people hurt when they don't mean to. People… one day, you are to hurt. You…" Elsa flaps her arms awkwardly out the sides of Anna's tight hug. "You will… you'll see what I am. You'll…" Elsa stops talking. Anna can't tell if that's because she's done, or if she just can't remember what she was trying to say.

"I know you're dead," Anna says. She doesn't let go. "If that bothered me, I wouldn't be here. If that bothered Kristoff, he wouldn't be here either."

"His shop," Elsa mutters almost sullenly. And then, as if she had suddenly remembered what she had meant to say, "You know I'm… you know dead, but you haven't seen. Don't know what it means."

"And when I do see what it means or whatever, _you'll_ see I don't care." Anna smiles as hopefully as she can, and turns to the policeman. "Uh, thanks for bringing her back," Anna says. "You don't need to see our paperwork or anything, right? Because, I mean, we totally have all the paperwork and I can go get it for you?"

"Nah," the officer says, and his voice sounds like he's trying to gargle rocks. "But err. Some o' m'coworkers. They might need to see some paperwork, ya' understand?"

"Yeah," Anna nods. "I get it. We submitted it. Should be getting the licenses or certificates or whatever in the mail any day now…"

"They've been takin' their sweet time gettin' back to people," the officer grunts. "Bit of a cluster fuck. You'd think there'd be a bit of a grace period if they wanted people like her to get their paperwork in order. But ya' know, I don't think they really do want people like her to get their shit sorted." He shrugs. "M'brother-in-law's like her. What a cluster. I been tellin' 'im he needs to stop having stupid days. Draws too much attention. Few of my coworkers? They migh' not really care that you DO have your paperwork, understand? Stubborn old bastard won't listen when I say he needs to be careful. You tell your litch. No more stupid days, m'kay? She does whatever she's gotta, kay?"

"Yeah," Anna nods vigorously. She catches Kristoff's firm head bob in the corner of her eye. "That's… magic? She's gotta magic, or whatever proper grammar is?"

"Think so," the policeman shrugs. "I ain't dead, an' Po don't like talking about it. Look, kid, I got patrols an' shit. Just wanted to make sure she was safe."

"Sure," Anna agrees, and takes Elsa's hand as much for the comfort as to make sure the absent little litch doesn't wander off. "Uh, quick question before you go? You know a litch, it sounds like he gets off days, does he ever… remember… his off days?"

"Nah," the officer shrugs. "Don't seem to. Why you ask?"

"No reason," Anna scowls as if daring him to disagree. "Thanks again for taking care of Elsa."

"Police have an oath to protect and serve," the stocky officer blushes furiously. "I jus' happen to remember the serve part." He hurries out of the little shop.

"Elsa?" Anna turns to the little blond litch. Elsa blinks owlishly back at her.

"No Dachau?" Elsa asks.

"No Dachau," Anna confirms- oh if only there were still some Nazis to punch…

Elsa seems to collapse into herself. "No Dachau," she mutters. "No Dachau."

"Elsa," Kristoff looms abruptly behind Anna like an overprotective oak tree. "Can you gather up all the dirty dishes?" He points at the scattered porcelain littering the abandoned tables. "Remember not to drop any, ok?"

"Don't drop any," Elsa bites her lip. "Kristoff said I did good. I don't drop things."

"Good," Kristoff smiles encouragingly. Elsa busies herself with the dishes, and the big barista rounds on Anna. "She tries real hard. You're not going to hurt her."

"Of course not!" Anna stands on her tiptoes so that Kristoff doesn't tower quite so far over her.

"Why were you asking if she would remember?" Kristoff demands.

"I was curious!" Anna protests. "The more I know about her the better I can help keep her safe. Promise!" She looks at her shoes.

"Really," Kristoff says. He folds his thick arms across his broad chest.

"Really," Anna insists.

"That's funny, because I don't believe you," Kristoff scowls. "You want to keep working here, you tell me the truth. Let me be crystal clear with you, the only reason you have a job here is to look out for her. You give me reason to think you're not good for her, you're gone."

"I was going to kiss her!" Anna says. "Happy? I like her. Like, really really like her, and I thought, if she won't remember, I can kiss her. Is that what you want?"

Elsa stands completely still.

"You were going to kiss her," Kristoff says. His voice is low and dangerous. "When she won't remember. When she doesn't know up from down? Can't even remember what goddamn century it is, and you were going to take advantage of her? How is that different than a roofie?"

"Jesus, not like that," Anna shudders. "How could you think like that? I meant, if I kiss her, and she's like 'ew gross Anna go away,' then she won't remember tomorrow, and I never do it again, and continue being her friend and not ruin everything! She won't have to feel awkward around me and we can just all forget about it! And if I kiss her and…" Elsa has edged closer. Anna scowls.

"Oh," Kristoff says. "Yeah. Ok. Good." He uncrosses his arms. "For a second there, I thought…"

"No," Anna says. "Jesus. I would never hurt Elsa. Uh, hey Elsa, we're not talking about you behind your back or anything."

The litch stands there, head tilted awkwardly, big blue eyes staring unblinking.

"Did you pick up all the dirty dishes?" Kristoff asks gently.

"No," Elsa says, and doesn't move.

"Uh, can you go pick up the dirty dishes please?" Kristoff stoops a little so he doesn't seem quite so intimidating.

"No," Elsa says again. Kristoff scowls. "Anna?" Elsa asks. She carefully sets down the dishes she has already collected.

"Yes Elsa?" Anna glances nervously at Kristoff.

"No kisses," he mouths silently.

"Um," Elsa looks around like a drowning sailor searching for a lifeline. "You…" she frowns with concentration. "You said… stupid dead thing. Think right… you said, uh, you like me?" She smiles shyly through a curtain of her hair.

"Yeah," Anna says. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Hear it," Elsa repeats. "Yes. I… Ich liebe Anna. Uh. Don't let me forget. Please."

"Don't let you forget what?" Anna asks. She glances helplessly at Kristoff.

"You said," Elsa frowns with concentration. "You said, I'm not going to remember tomorrow? That's why… today? You said it today? So I would forget?"

"Yes," Anna nods slowly. "What do you…"

"Don't want to forget," Elsa cuts her off desperately. "Don't let me forget. Lass mich nicht vergessen. Ich liebe dich und du liebst mich. Lass mich nicht vergessen."

"Elsa, I don't speak German," Anna says gently. Elsa's eyes are wild, like an alleycat backed into a corner.

"Anna," Kristoff snorts. "You're an idiot. You don't need to speak German to… here. Elsa, I won't let you forget Anna said she likes you. Is that what you want?"

"Yes!" Elsa yells. "That's… I said… that's why…" she frowns. "Can't remember," she mutters. "Can't remember. Was important."

"It's ok," Kristoff says gently. "We'll remind you. We remember."

"Was important," Elsa repeats.

"We'll remember for you," Kristoff says. "Shh. It's ok."

"Not ok," Elsa grumbles. "Not… you wanted… dishes?"

"Yes, Elsa," Kristoff says. "Gather up the dishes please. Be careful you don't drop any."

"Careful," Elsa agrees easily.

* * *

 **AN: holy freaking crap. A hundred followers for ten chapters? Thank you all for making this my most popular story yet! I've always seen stories that get ten follows a chapter as having this unattainable popularity. It's always been the line in my mind between "bleh normal fanfic" and "wheee popular" and I never thought I would be able to cross that line, so thank you all so so much.**

 **On a different note, this story has been a bit of a marathon of depression, but you needn't fear, there is SOME happiness planned for future chapters. I can't promise they will all be happy, and I can't promise that bad things won't happen, and I don't want to give spoilers, but there will be some happiness. Also, it should be noted that I somehow borked up the year that Apollo 11 launched. I think it was a typo, not shitty research, but anyway thanks to the guest reviewer who pointed that out. The year has now been corrected.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed. If you are a new reader, it would mean the world to me if you could follow, so I can keep up that ten-per-chapter trend, and if you've been reading for a while, you know I love hearing your thoughts…**


	12. Chapter 12

"The third account of Nagash, fifth prince of Egypt," the professor translates slowly. Ancient Egyptian is not easy to translate and with something like this, even the smallest mistake could be devastating. It doesn't help that the symbols seem to dance and shift as if they are trying to trick her. "Usurper, lord of the black pyramid. I understand future generations will not regard me well, and I well deserve it. I have done terrible things, murdered my own family, seized the throne from the rightful heir of Egypt, desecrated ancient graves, led armies of abominations against peaceful states. I am a monster. Already, though I am not yet dead, there is talk of blotting my name from the history books. Advisors and viziers and high priests and low priests all mutter that I have betrayed Egypt when they think I cannot hear. But my ears are everywhere. Through my magic, every dead thing large and small serves me. Clever though my advisors may be, they do not notice the half rotted beetles swept into the corners by lazy servants. They are correct of course, that I have betrayed Egypt, but I serve a far greater mistress. I serve humanity entire. I serve the old gods and the new, and I serve myself though I hate to admit to it. I have spent Egypt's armies on my own projects, emptied her treasury to erect my great necropolis, and executed many of the greatest and noblest of Egypt's children. Many say that Egypt will not be able to defend herself against the depredations of her neighbors, but Egypt's enemies are not mine. I do not strive to defeat the fools who live by the Nile, or the proud Greeks across the sea, but rather to defeat death itself, and the gods Isis and Osiris who rule over it, for no true god has any part in death. I fight so that one day, humanity will be able to look forward and see only eternal life. One day, even if it takes a hundred years, death will only be in the past, and we will be able to stand tall as even the gods do.

"Even as my eyes grow dim, and my hand starts to shake, I think I have one last effort in me. In all of my experiments, one final piece has eluded me; memory. My advisors conspire against me, my servants uncover a dozen assassination plots each day, and I know the end must come soon, but when it does my hard won art must not die with me. The cost of this knowledge was thousands of innocent lives and uncountable atrocities. I take these crimes upon my shoulders willingly, for we humans must have this knowledge, but these crimes must not be repeated. I set my quill to parchment so that even when my flesh turns to dust and every text bearring my cursed name is burned away, this knowledge carries on. Or perhaps I am deluding myself. Ever have I been selfish; my work could have been done with me as only fifth prince, not pharaoh. I told myself that my family would not understand, but it was I who did not understand; I could well have hidden my labors from my brothers, but I chose to murder them and seize the throne for myself. Perhaps my reasons for this work are the same delusion? Perhaps I do not need to give this account of myself, and could instead only present my knowledge with none of my history? Perhaps I am only a deluded old fool who hopes that someone will be able to remember me as something other than monster, usurper, unnamed and reviled.

"Within this tome and those like it, I give to you my art. Read, and discover the method of binding flesh and bone to your will, the method of binding yourself to life and of vanquishing death, the method of forging all manner of undead horror both corporeal and otherwise. In this tome oh reader, I shall give to you one hundred spells and I shall continue to pen these works until I have relayed all of my knowledge, or death has taken me.

"Spell the three-hundred-and-first: to breathe life into a corpse, or the Invocation of Nehek:

"Begin with a corpse, recently dead or pile of bones it matters little." Professor Gottle grins triumphantly. Her student had asked her to translate this ancient text, and translate she would. But silly little Anna doesn't understand the power contained within. Oh, Gottle intends to return it, she doesn't think of herself as evil, but who would object if she kept a copy for herself? Begin with a corpse? Well the school has a cadaver lab. Start small, and one day… Gottle doesn't have to die. Doesn't have to grow old and ugly. Begin with a corpse, and then what? The hieroglyphs swim before her eyes.

* * *

"Seattle College medical department reports theft of a cadaver from…" Anna tunes out the TV and glances at Kristoff. He crosses his arms and leans back. The chair complains.

"Think she'll do it?" Anna bites her lip.

"No idea," Kristoff grunts. "I've never seen her cast a single spell. Maybe she doesn't know magic? Like, can someone else make you a Litch? I know I'd use my magic if I was her. Off days look like shit."

"Nah," Anna shakes her head and glances at the double doors that lead to the back of the shop. No Elsa yet. "She's got a spell book. I think she said something about not wanting us to see?"

"She knows magic," Pabbie says simply. He sits off to one side, as if to say that he's only here to enjoy a cup of coffee, but the barista isn't awake yet and Kristoff has asked Pabbie to be here on the off chance that he could help.

"That's fucking silly," Kristoff says.

"Well, she's kinda silly sometimes," Anna agrees. "Still though. I kinda get it. Like if it's really really horrible? I feel like people have abandoned her before. Just a sense I'm getting."

"Yeah, maybe," Kristoff uncrosses his arms, seems unsure what to do with them, and recrosses. "Well, we're not shit human beings."

"We aren't," Anna nods firmly.

"So we're not going to freak out," Kristoff nods. "No matter how scary it is. I know Elsa. She wouldn't hurt anyone."

"We are so totally not going to freak out, and hi Elsa, we weren't talking about you," Anna flushes brilliantly at the tangle-haired Elsa pushing through the double doors.

"Alright," Elsa rubs her eyes and makes her way over to the table. She glances briefly at Pabbie as if to ask what he's doing here. He gives a little wave as if to tell her not to mind her pretty little head, and Elsa shrugs.

"You had an off day yesterday," Anna says, and pulls a chair out for Elsa.

"I kind of figured," Elsa sits.

"We have something to talk to you about," Kristoff says gently, and puts his hands slowly on the table.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Elsa nods sadly. "I'll grab my things."

"What?" Kristoff snorts. "The fuck?"

"You're… not firing me?" Elsa frowns, and Anna feels the pressing need to give her a hug. Anna restraines herself.

"Why the hell would I fire you?" Kristoff demands. "You make the best coffee in the state. Should be working in a freaking five star restaurant. I fire you and my ratings plummet, and no way in hell can I afford to hire someone half as good as you. Why the hell would I fire you?" Pabbie snorts in the background.

"I thought," Elsa sniffs daintily. "Because I'm a litch. I thought I must have finally done something yesterday?"

"No!" Kristoff exclaims. "Of course not. Jesus Elsa. You're worth more than that."

"Well," Anna says. "There were the cops. And the ambulance."

"Oh," Elsa drops her head into her hands.

"But it's ok because they were really nice and they took good care of you, and nothing happened and they were very helpful." Anna's words tumble out in a rush.

"Oh," Elsa repeats. She doesn't lift her head.

"That's actually kind of what we wanted to talk to you about," Kristoff says gently and rubs her back lightly. Elsa jumps at the contact so he pulls away with a grimace. "You can't be having off days," he continues. "Not because I'd fire you or anything, hell I can't think of anything that WOULD get me to fire you. It's just, we're worried you will draw attention to yourself."

"I'll be fine," Elsa mumbles. "I always am."

"But you're not fine," Kristoff says. He lowers his head to the table to be on her level. "You have days that you don't remember. Where you aren't yourself. Where people confess important things to you and you don't have any idea about it the next day." He directs a pointed glance at Anna and then continues, "and you have these days because- as I understand it- because you're denying a part of yourself. You're not going to scare me off, you're sure as hell not going to scare Anna off."

"I've heard that before," Elsa says. There's no emotion in her voice, but there doesn't have to be for her feelings to show through.

"Well, whoever said that before was a shithead, and we're with you," Anna glares as if she could protect Elsa through her righteous indignation.

"She wasn't a shithead," Elsa says quietly. She lifts her head, brushes her hair back from her face, and suddenly she's the same elegantly refined beauty Anna had first met. Anna momentarily loses track of the conversation. "I'm not going to use magic," Elsa says. "Humans don't need another reason to hate me. I'm different, and that's been giving you lot plenty of ammunition for longer than you two've been alive. I will never cast another spell, and if that means I have to deal with off days, so be it."

Anna closes her eyes. She hates herself for what she's about to say, but it needs to be said. She opens her eyes. "Elsa," she says. It takes all of her considerable determination not to cry. "When are you going to stop being a victim?" Elsa flinches as if hit, and Anna loathes every fiber of her own being.

"I…" Elsa folds in on herself. "That's not fair."

"It's not fair," Anna agrees, "but it isn't wrong either." Elsa flinches again, but Anna plows ahead this time. "I don't care who hurt you in the past, I don't care how they hurt you, you've got to move past it. I'm not going to run, Kristoff isn't going to run, and Pabbie is a grizzled old goat who just doesn't give a shit, so suck it up and stop being such a fucking victim."

"Anna," Kristoff warns. His voice is low and menacing.

"She's right," Elsa mumbles. "I'm a victim. Can't do anything right. I just sit here and wait for people to hurt me."

That isn't what Anna had been going for. "That's not…" Anna trails off.

"No," Kristoff says. "You're brave, and you're… um… you don't take shit from anyone…"

"That's Anna," Elsa says. "Anna's brave. Anna went through a crowd of protesters just to go dance. I'm a fucking coward. Anna gets in people's faces when they insult me. She 'doesn't take shit from anyone.' I just sit here like a useless fucking CORPSE and let other people deal with my problems for me."

"Well," Anna bites her lip and wipes furiously at the corners of her eyes. "If you feel that way, you can change it. Do the magic."

"No," Elsa seems very small. Like a bedraggled cat sitting out in the rain. "That's not me. I'm a fucking coward."

The door chimes. Who- just the wind. Anna turns back to Elsa. "You're not a coward. I shouldn't have said you were a victim. I'm sorry. You're not a coward. You're letting me write about you. You're helping me show the world that litches are alright. You're making sure that America doesn't become another Nazi Germany. You're brave."

"It's not brave to let someone else save you, Anna," Elsa says. "It's time I left. Before you see what a pathetic victim I really am." Elsa stands slowly. Anna winces.

"Elsa Arrendel, don't you dare," Pabbie's voice is sharp. Devoid of any of the reedy raspiness of age. He's interrupted by a full bodied cough. It bends him double and stains his kerchief with red spots, but when it releases him, Pabbie hauls himself upright. His cane wobbles under his liver-spotted hand. "You're the bravest person I know," Pabbie says. "I fought alongside some heroes. Saw kids charge machineguns. Saw people refuse to fight even though the Nazis would execute them for it, or saw their corpses at least. You're the bravest person I know. You survived the holocaust, and did that break you? No. You did what you could to keep me and the other boys in the action. You had to take it upon yourself to decide who lived and who died. I can't think of anything harder. You saved my life."

"That's not bravery," Elsa says. She walks toward the door. "I just did what anyone would have in that situation." Her hand is on the doorknob, and Anna gets the sense that if she lets Elsa out the door, she will never see the damaged little litch again.

"Elsa, I love you," Anna cries out. Elsa freezes. "Don't you go out that door, because then I would have to follow you, and these shoes will murder my feet if I walk anywhere in them."

A brief, resented smile flits across Elsa's pale dead face. "You don't know what you're talking about," Elsa says. "You don't know me."

"I know enough," Anna says. She catches Kristoff and Pabbie sneaking out through the back door, but chooses not to mention it.

"You're going to run away when you see my magic," Elsa says.

"I'm not," Anna says, and steps in close. She throws her arms around Elsa's thin shoulders. The litch flinches, and moves to pull away, but Anna pulls her into a crushing, heartfelt hug. "I'm not going anywhere," Anna releases her and steps back. "I'll prove it. Do the magic and you'll see."

Elsa lets out a low wheeze. "No," she says, and folds her arms over her abdomen. "I can't handle you leaving. Not right now."

Anna brushes Elsa's long silvery bangs back from her eyes- such beautiful clear crystal blue eyes. Nothing like a corpse's eyes. She takes the litch's pale wrists, pulls them apart, and steps in for a hug. "You're a silly litch," Anna says. "You can't deal with me leaving so you were going to leave?" She can feel Elsa's thin shoulders shrug against her. "Don't leave," Anna says, and rests her chin on Elsa's shoulder.

"I won't," Elsa sighs. "This is a bad idea."

"Maybe," Anna says. Elsa squirms, so Anna releases her and continues. "Who knows? But that's life. Do things. Sometimes they're mistakes, but you won't know until you make them, and the alternative is just doing nothing and that sounds like a shirt way to live."

"That's all I do," Elsa confesses quietly, and moves to the counter for something to occupy her hands.

"Then maybe it's time you made a mistake?" Anna sits on the counter- she has to hop a little to reach- and drapes herself over the glass display. Cleavage showing? Elsa's beautiful blue eyes glance down, and Anna feels a small jolt of triumph in her mortal heart.

"I've made a lot of mistakes," Elsa says. Her hands work over the machine's levers with practiced familiarity. Her eyes stay locked firmly on her work.

"So have I!" Anna grins broadly. "Guess we've got something in common."

Elsa sighs and passes over a steaming mug of- well it looks like coffee, but it smells so much sweeter than any coffee Anna has ever tried before. She gives it an experimental sip. It's like fairies dancing on her tongue. All light and soft and warm. Creamy and sweet and chocolatey and… is that caramel?

"This is really good," Anna smiles.

"Only thing I can do right," Elsa grumbles.

"Maybe," Anna shrugs and takes another sip. "But you'll stay?"

"I'll stay," Elsa sighs.

* * *

 **AN: happy(ish) chapter. Yay! Ahem. Sorry to steal the magic system from warhammer fantasy (and Nagash, kindof) but... I thought myself so clever to work Nagash into previous chapters, and that kindof became its own plot? Anyway, its not REALLY a crossover, right?**


	13. Chapter 13

"What you got for me?" Anna flounces into her professor's office. Anna has a long history of stupid mistakes, she knows. Dating Hans, mixing rum and vodka, putting a dead squirrel in the air conditioning vent over her high school principal's office… Anna has made many mistakes, and she knows it, but Elsa has to use her magic. That's non negotiable. If that takes Anna making another stupid mistake, so be it. Elsa says magic is scary? Well Anna will show her scary...

"What have I told you about knocking?" Professor Gottle looks up. There are bags under her eyes, and an angry red semicircular bite mark on the meaty edge of her hand- still bleeding and half bandaged.

"That knocking is for wusses that didn't bring their professor an awesome ancient book thingee," Anna perches on the edge of the desk. "That looks bad. What did that?"

"I've translated the first few pages," the professor ignores the question. "It's slow going. The author has a habit of mixing in Greek when the hieroglyphs can't convey the right idea."

"Awesome!" Anna's brilliant green eyes gleam with excitement. "Can I see?"

"Sure," the professor fishes a sheaf of paper out of her satchel one handed. "I made a few copies," she explains quickly. "I didn't want to risk damage to your book with opening and closing and turning pages. It's pretty standard with old texts like this."

Anna accepts the explanation, and the loose stack of papers, with a sage nod. She reads for a moment. "Invocation of… neh… na… a spell? Really?"

"I don't see how it's supposed to work," Professor Gottle says bitterly. "I think there's something wrong with the book…"

"A spell," Anna grins broadly. "I bet… so, if you've made copies, can I have the original back?"

"It belongs in a museum," the professor says.

"It belongs to my friend," Anna replies, and holds out one freckled hand expectantly. The professor scowls, but passes over the ancient book. "Thanks," Anna grins, and tucks it gently into her bag. "You're the greatest. I've… got something to do today…"

"Yeah," the professor says bitterly, but Anna can't imagine what with. "Go on. I'll keep working on this translation."

* * *

The glass door chimes as Anna pushes her way into the cozy little coffee shop. The TV is on- it seems like it's always on. Elsa sits at one of the tables, thin hands wrapped around a gently steaming drink, clear eyes watching the news warily.

"...First arrest for a violation of the new litch laws. The spokesman for the CDC had this to say."

"We in CDC enforcement are dedicated to integrity and fairness above all else. The suspect was arrested on charges of failing to register, but we would normally give a warning, if that were the only offense. The FBI has informed us that the suspect is also under suspicion for theft of a sum over five thousand dollars, illicit firearm ownership, and illegal immigration. We at the CDC are committed to…" Anna turns off the TV. She glances at Elsa's perfect face- carefully neutral, and Anna can feel her heart breaking for the little litch.

"Why do you watch that?" Anna hurries over to the table, wraps Elsa in a firm embrace. Elsa shrugs half heartedly and Anna goes on. "Why do you do that to yourself?"

"I have to know," Elsa murmurs then, louder, "technically I'm an illegal immigrant. Pabbie said we were getting married to get me over here, but we never did get married. I like him, but not romantically."

Anna releases her carefully and sits slowly in the chair beside. "I'm sorry," she says because she doesn't know what else to say.

"There's nothing you can do about the situation," Elsa says, still neutrally. "Why are you sorry?"

"Sympathetic then," Anna shrugs and gives her best sunny smile. "There's plenty I can do. I can publish the interview I'm writing?" Elsa blanches so Anna presses on quickly, "I can make you do the magic."

"No," Elsa snaps. She's sitting up straight all of a sudden- not that she was hunched or slumped before, but there's an iron rigidity in her spine now. "You can't make me use my magic." The litch's voice is cold like a glacier, impenetrable and incomprehensible.

Anna shudders. "Maybe not," she admits, "that doesn't mean it's a bad idea."

"No," Elsa says again. There's no rage in her eyes- Anna expected rage for some reason. Just the kind of wild panic that you would normally see in a fox with its paw caught in a trap.

"You aren't going to scare me," Anna insists. "I'm not going to leave." She notices Kristoff lurking behind the counter and gives him a tentative thumbs up.

"You will," Elsa replies, but it's a broken noise.

"I won't," Anna says, and leans in close. She throws her arms around Elsa's thin shoulders. The litch flinches, and moves to pull away, but Anna pulls her into a crushing, heartfelt hug. "I'm not going anywhere," Anna releases her, stands, and steps back. "I'll prove it. Promise you won't be mad?"

"Be mad?" Elsa frowns. "Mad at what?"

"Mad at this," Anna says, and pulls her professor's translation out of her bag. "You had an off day, and I found your spell book thing, and you wanted me to hide it, and you wouldn't just let me put it back so I put it in my bag and you seemed to be ok with that, and I guess I accidentally stole it? Sorry. Anyway. I've got the book here, and I don't think I damaged it at all. Ahem." She straightens the papers, and gives them another read over. Oh god she should have practiced...

Elsa bites her lip and leans back. "That's a bad idea," she says.

"Pshh," Anna scoffs, "it'll be fine." She reaches out for the magic, and wishes again that she had time to practice. There's a shrieking noise coming from beside the world as the magic conforms to her unpracticed touch. The ancient tome had said "reach out for the power," and Anna hadn't known what that meant but somehow, through sheer force of will, there it is. Reach out for the power, as if it were obvious. Somehow, it is. You just reach out like so, not with your hands… the world seems to creak under the weight of Anna's intent. What to resurrect? A mouse in the alley, half eaten and all rotted? Anna frowns with concentration.

The magic shifts under her mind. First a whirl, like so, a great driving gear for the spell. Feed it with a trickle of power… the thousands of insects living under the coffee shop's floorboards all drop dead. The mold growing in the corner of the bathroom fades and dies. Not enough. Anna feels herself growing faint.

"Stop," Elsa says urgently but not loudly. "Anna, stop."

Anna collapses, but then there's another mind on the spell. An old mind, scarred by trauma, and burdened by wisdom. An Elsa mind. A mind suffused with magic, filled with complex little intertwined circuits of power. Elsa takes control of the spell, plugs it's ravenous hunger, and let's it dissipate. The wordless shrieking stops.

Anna squints up at Elsa. The litch is bent over her, a curtain of silvery hair separates them from the world and an expression of intense worry marrs her perfect face. "Well that went well," Anna says brightly.

"It almost killed you," Elsa says.

"Eh," Anna shrugs awkwardly. "Only a little bit."

"Why would you do something so stupid?" Elsa demands, and stands briskly.

"I love you," Anna says, sitting up.

"And that made you stupid?" Elsa growls like a caged tiger. She sighs. "I love you too. Don't you have anywhere better to be?" She scowls at Kristoff, lurking by the double doors behind the counter.

"Someone has to supervise you two," Kristoff says. "Pretty sure it's a rule or something. Two little girls doing black magic in your shop, you have to supervise them."

Elsa scowls, but it's not an angry sort of scowl. "You didn't run," She accuses. Kristoff shrugs.

"It's my shop," he says. "I'm not running from my own shop."

"I didn't run either," Anna grins weakly. She tries- and fails- to stand. Elsa whirls on her, fury in the set of her eyes, panic in the way she clenches her hands.

"You!" Elsa stands frighteningly still, momentarily lost for words. "You almost died. You fucking moron, you almost died!"

"I don't think I've heard you cuss before," Anna says, steals Elsa's words for a moment.

"Why?" Elsa doesn't move, not even to give the impression of breathing.

Anna shrugs awkwardly, tries to stand again. She's more successful this time, manages to maneuver herself into her recently vacated chair. "I needed to show you that I'm not afraid," she says.

"You…" Elsa still hasn't moved, and Anna wonders idly how many words she'll be able to get out before her lungs need a refill. "Why?" Elsa asks again.

"So you'd use your magic so you'd stop having off days so the plague police don't snatch you up so I can keep spending time with you?" Anna shrugs helplessly. "Them's my reasons."

"Why?" Elsa asks again, still no breath- Anna worries that she broke the little litch.

Anna shrugs again. "I don't know what else you want from me, Elsa. Those are all the reasons I've got. I actually thought this through a bit better than I normally do."

"Why do you care?" Elsa seems to realize abruptly that she hasn't been breathing so she takes in a few deep gulps of air and glares suspiciously at the seated redhead.

"Because I love you, ya silly old litch," Anna snorts.

Elsa blinks as if Anna had just said "because I shit rainbows," or "because the moon is made out of fish." A statement that simply does not compute. Elsa paces for a moment. She opens her mouth, thinks better of it, shakes her head, tries again. "I'm not worth it," she says at last.

Anna snorts disdainfully. "You are the bravest, most beautiful, most adorable, most hug worthy girl I've ever met," Anna blushes and barrels on. "You are worth the world and I don't care how worthless the shitheads in your past have made you feel, you are worth the world to me."

"I…" Elsa frowns. "I don't understand?"

"What don't you understand?" Anna pats the chair beside her, and Elsa sits heavily.

"Why?" Elsa says again after a moment.

Anna sighs and rolls her eyes. She leans over, tiredly drapes her arms around Elsa's shoulders, is surprised to notice that they're shaking. "I'm not going to run," Anna says.

"I…" Elsa frowns and flails her arms, she finally settles for wrapping them around Anna. "I know," Elsa says. The door chimes and the two girls fly apart as if burned. "How can I help you…" Elsa notices the auburn sideburns, the combed brassy hair, the aquiline face, "sir…" she trails off.

"Hans," Anna staggers to her feet. Elsa joins her a moment later.

"So," Hans says slowly. "This is where you've been Anna?"

"What about it?" Anna scowls, and places her shaking hands on her hips.

"Hanging out with a fucking corpse?" Hans sneers. It's not an attractive expression.

"Hanging out with a goddamn person," Anna scowls. "You are on the wrong side of history on this one."

"You're on the wrong side of the law," Hans replies. "Wesselton is changing things around here. It's about time someone returned this country to our good old fashioned American values."

"Good old fashioned American values?" There's Kristoff, abruptly striding forward like a pissed off freight train. "What would you know about good old fashioned American values? There are a whole bunch of old veterans from the Second World War who keep pestering me for information on how their hero is doing. She saved lives. She saw things that would fucking break you, she's a goddamn hero, and you have the stones to come into MY shop, and talk about good old fashioned American values? As if those good old fashioned American values wouldn't get you a cane right up the ass? Get the fuck out of my shop or I will call the police."

Hans turns slowly, a malicious smile on his too-smooth face. Before he can say anything though Anna clears her throat, rolls up her sleeves, and casually remarks, "I've been learning magic. You should leave before I set your testicles on fire."

"Is that a threat?" Hans turns back to the furious redhead.

Anna shakes her head firmly, her hair whips the sides of her face. "No," she says. "It's a word of advice, and a promise."

"I'll be back," Hans shrugs, and steps back. He gives a shaky smile, as if to insist that it's his choice to leave, and then he's gone, door swinging and ringing in his wake.

Anna jumps when she feels a pair of cool arms twining around her shoulders- Elsa, starting the hug this time? Anna smiles.

"Thank you," Elsa says quietly. "Thank you both. I don't deserve you."

"Thank us both?" Kristoff growls, brow like a thundercloud as he stares at the door. "You're thanking us both, but only Anna is getting a hug from a beautiful girl…" he forces an approximation of a playful smile.

Elsa releases Anna quickly, takes a step back, straightens her sweater. "I don't…"

"Don't sweat it," Kristoff says. He seems to think for a second. "Listen, Elsa. I'm not firing you, I will never fire you, but you might want to consider looking for a different job. We don't get many customers here, and I don't know how much longer I can keep the doors open. I just want to make sure you're ok if I have to close."

Elsa scowls. She draws herself up to her full, unimpressive height. "That's not going to happen," she says with sudden strength. "You're the closest thing I've got to family. I'm not… I'll make better coffee."

"It's not the coffee," Kristoff says. He smiles cheerfully, but Anna can see worry lurking beneath the expression just like she can always see pain beneath Elsa's perfect face. Suddenly the little lines at the corners of Kristoff's eyes look more like stress than laughter.

"Then I'll quit," Elsa says. "If you didn't have a litch for a barista, maybe…"

"It's not that," Kristoff says. "Your coffee is the only reason we're still open." Suddenly the peeling linoleum and foggy light fixtures take on new meaning for Anna and she abruptly feels bad for accepting a paycheck. "It's just," Kristoff continues, "there are quite a few coffee shops in the area. Too much supply, not enough demand."

"Oh," Anna says. "I'm sorry. You don't have to pay me to take care of Elsa…"

"I'll pay you what I damn well please," Kristoff says.

"Anna, you're right," Elsa says. "It's time I stop being such a fucking victim. Kristoff, I'm going to save your shop. Anna, you want to see magic, I'll show you some magic." Her words are strong, but Anna isn't certain there's any difference in Elsa's wounded voice. Baby steps, Anna tells herself.

"Actually," Anna says and produces Nagash's heavy tome. "I'd really like to learn magic too, if that's ok?"

Elsa nods stiffly. "Keep it," she says. "Don't ever give it away, but keep it." Anna scratches the back of her head guiltily. "You already did," Elsa says. It isn't a question. Anna nods miserably. "Don't worry," Elsa sighs. "I'm not mad. You were getting it translated?" Anna nods again. "Of course you were. It's…" Elsa trails off and shrugs.

"You aren't mad?" Anna asks.

"No," Elsa sighs. "Don't do it again, but no. It's cursed, is part of the reason. The book has one master, it lies to everyone else. The letters move and make the instructions wrong. That, and I've told you that the old Egyptian spells have problems. The ritual to make you a litch has changed to leave more of your mind intact, the spells to raise the dead are less likely to leave them as uncontrollable monsters… I don't want anyone getting hurt because they don't know."

"Oh," Anna grins hopefully. "So it's not just that I'm bad at magic? What's the other part?"

"I," Elsa looks around furtively. "Uh, Kristoff?"

"Elsa?" He crosses his arms and leans against the register.

"Can you…" Elsa motions helplessly. Kristoff sighs and goes into the back, so Elsa continues. "Anna, I told you litches bind their soul to a physical object, right? That's what makes a litch a litch, and not a zombie or a wight or a skeleton or an ushabti or a wraith or… anything else…"

"Sure," Anna frowns. "You called it a phylactery?" Elsa nods meaningfully at the ancient tome, and Anna gasps. "You're giving me your soul? Holy freaking shit Elsa, you've got to be more careful with this!"

"It used to be hidden," Elsa mutters, and Anna blushes.

"Well it should be in, like, a safe or something," Anna says. "What if it gets ripped? It should be in a Swiss Bank!"

"If it gets ripped, I stop being," Elsa gives an unconcerned shrug. Anna gasps again, but before she can say anything, Elsa goes on. "Nagash- the first real necromancer, and probably the most powerful- knew he was dying when he wrote his cursed tomes. He left them so that his knowledge would stay after he died. You didn't think papyrus would normally survive five thousand years, did you? There are so many enchantments on that old book, I don't think it could be destroyed even if you tried. I know I've tried," she says this last part quietly but continues before Anna can think over the implications. "That's why I chose this for my phylactery; I made myself a litch when I was in Dachau and at the time all I could think was that I didn't want to die. Ever."

"Oh," Anna says. She cradles the book as gently as she can. "Still… you trust me with… your soul?"

Elsa shrugs uncomfortably. "You didn't run," she says quietly. "You're an idiot, but you didn't run." She cracks a wry smile. "Besides, the book cant burn, can't tear, hell I snuck it into one of the nuclear testing sites and it wasn't even radioactive afterwards."

"You…" Anna sits numbly. "Oh my poor Elsa." The litch shrugs. "Wait," Anna frowns. "You said- twice now- that the… Egyptian… spells were outdated. How exactly did you learn magic if these spells aren't the ones you used?" Anna thumps the book's cover, then grimaces and checks it for damage. The worn leather binding seems… old, she guesses, but if you had asked her how old without telling her what it was? Anna might guess fifty years. Maybe. If it had been very very well taken care of. Not a hundred times that. Not a book that had survived an atom bomb.

* * *

 **AN: I hope the whole "Kristoff's shop is in danger of closing" thing didn't come too suddenly. I tried to hint at it before, but I had other things to get across that felt more important at the time and I guess I didn't really give it as much attention as it needed? Anyway...**

 **So, a lot of you wonderful reviewers were expressing hope that Anna accepts Elsa's magic when she inevitably sees it. This isn't quite the same, but it felt more in character for the headstrong firecracker Anna is, rather than just passively not being afraid? As always, reviews, follows, and favorites are love...**


	14. Chapter 14

_January 9, 1939_

The radio is their sole source of comfort during the day, but also an ever present source of terror. There's little else for a family to do in the cramped attic, but between the radio operas and dramatic readings is the propaganda. Terrible, hateful propaganda that tells Elsa how cowardly and greedy she is. That tells her how evil her people are, how all their great country's problems are her fault even though she loves Germany as much as the next girl. Propaganda that tells her how disgusting homosexuals are, though even her family doesn't know that little secret…

Her mother had wanted her to marry the butcher's boy across the street- or across the street from their old home, Elsa reminds herself. Blond haired and blue eyed just like her, the perfect aryan match. Elsa hadn't known how to tell her mother why that wouldn't work, and now she doesn't have to. The only good to come out of this whole situation.

Elsa's brother listens intently to the radio- he's only nine and easily amused. He doesn't yet understand what he hears. Her parents are behind the partition, arguing quietly again though they think she can't hear. "Iduna, we have to try. If we stay…" her father's voice. "And go where? Even if we make it, you've heard the radio. Nowhere is safe. The Wehrmacht is rolling over everything. No one can stop our blitzkrieg." Even now, it's "our" blitzkrieg. Our army. Our war. Our SS even, though no one talks about them here.

Everyone is distracted, so Elsa can read her book. She found it here, under a floorboard. Dust coated and ancient, not written in German. Elsa has always been good with languages though, and some of it had already been translated on yellowed sheets of parchment nearby. It isn't impossible, given a few pages in each language, to work it out. Elsa has nothing but time and the clothes on her back.

The book speaks of things. Things like a forgotten Egyptian king, and a way to stave off death. Things like lost knowledge, and a way to save her family. Terrible things too though. Ways to bring back the dead, ways to bind bone and brass and carven stone into terrible vengeful constructs like the gollum of legend, ways to pollute the mind and wither the muscles.

Elsa has been thinking of trying one of the spells for a while now- oh, nothing big or dangerous. None of the spells for modifying your own soul, none of the powerful spells that could get out of hand. Nothing that requires any real sacrifice to work either; Elsa doesn't know if the spells are real. For all she knows, the whole thing could be a joke. It feels right though, and she needs it to work if her family is to survive.

A simple spell then, to listen at a great distance… The book had said to reach out for the magic, but what does that mean? Elsa wonders if she should try to raise her hands or something when there it is. Not visible, not tangible, nothing she can describe really, just a sense of incomprehensible power lurking, writhing, eager to be used. The spell burns itself out and Elsa lets it fail, sits there stunned. Her heart hammers in her chest like a loose piston in a failing engine- she did it! The magic is real! There's a noise downstairs like a dropped pot.

Elsa hides her book, and all of the papers that go with it. Boots on the stairs- the SS? Her breath catches, her heart is in her throat. The trapdoor opens and it's only the nice old herr Oaken who has been hiding her family. He peers around the little attic and his twinkling eyes- mostly hidden by bushy brows- seem to see through everyone like a piercing wind. Her brother listening to the radio- no, not what the man is looking for. Her parents, argument comically paused? No… Elsa, seated at the battered little table, trying very hard not to look at that one section of loose flooring- herr Oaken's eyes seem to light up like tiny Hanukkah candles.

"Ah," he says, and the sound is like a suddenly punctured tire. "Little frauline Elsa. I should have known." Her parents look at him as if wings had just sprouted from his tweed back. "A noise, I thought," he says. "We can't risk you being heard. People below, in the shop, ya? I will come later, when it is safe." He shuts the trap door behind himself, and Elsa's mother moves- quickly but quietly- to turn off the radio. It isn't the first time herr Oaken has had to warn them to be quiet, but it's late and the shop is closed. Her parents seem to believe him, but Elsa can't hear anyone below- anyone except for Oaken and his prodigious family that is…

That night, Elsa is woken by a thick finger on her lips. Her eyes snap open, her heart thrums like the propeller of one of the luftwaffe's fighters, but she doesn't move. Just holds carefully still like a wounded dog warily assessing her surroundings. Herr Oaken and his fair wife stand over her, lit only by the moonlight.

"Come with us," frau Oaken whispers, and the couple moves back to the trap door. Elsa knows it is dangerous to follow, knows that someone might see her, but she dresses and follows anyway.

The couple leads her down to their shop's little basement. It is normally crowded by crates of unopened back stock, but tonight it is crowded by men and women chatting excitedly. They quiet quickly when the Oakens enter.

"This is her then?" One of the men near the front says. "She doesn't look like much."

Elsa doesn't understand what is happening, and worries that the Oakens are about to whore her out, but they make no move to lay a hand on her and the staircase behind her is not blocked. Maybe they plan to threaten her family in order to make her cooperate, but if she runs now before they give their threat…

"This is her," Frau Oaken says, and Elsa hesitates in spite of herself.

"I may not be strong enough to work a spell," Herr Oaken says, "but I can sure feel one building. Go ahead Elsa honey, show them." Elsa frowns.

"I don't have the book," she says quietly, catching on. "I'm sorry. I can go get it?"

"That's all right," Herr Oaken lays a heavy hand on her shoulder and she stiffens in spite of herself. "Just do what you can without it."

Elsa nods hesitantly, reaches out for the power, and there's an ocean of it, crashing against the barriers of her mind like the pounding surf. She shies away from it, and an awed whisper sweeps the crowd.

"She's powerful," someone says. "She just sees the power so clearly," someone else says. "And to think she hasn't studied it at all."

"I've studied," Elsa says quickly, and is not entirely sure if she is defending herself in doing so or not. "I read most of the book I found. From Nagash?" The magic is real! And other people know about it!

"An old book full of outdated, half functional spells," a woman in the crowd scoffs.

"I'm sure you're all much better," Elsa mumbles.

"Better? No," someone laughs. "I know a hundred spells but I'm only strong enough to make a little light. Let me teach you, at least someone will be able to use them."

"I can do Van Hel's, but that's it," another says. "She might even be strong enough to work the litch ritual, not that we would, of course," they seem to all talk at once, but it's a healthy happy hubbub that puts a shy smile on Elsa's pale face.

* * *

February 23, 1940

There is a pounding on the door. A quick staccato sound. Oaken stands, and motions Elsa up the stairs. Elsa closes her book and goes, but before she reaches them, the door flies from its hinges. There are men there, grey coats and shiny leather boots and crimson arm bands and caps with shiny silver eagles. It's over, and Elsa knows. Herr Oaken must as well, but he just shakes his head sadly and rolls up his sleeves.

"We are having problem?" He asks. One of the men smiles and steps forward, singles himself out as a leader. His smile can barely be called that- the sort of expression a shark might have before the frenzy, if a shark had lips.

"Your neighbors say you have not been entirely honest with us Herr Oaken," The man says almost apologetically. Almost. "You don't mind if we look around, do you?" His gaze catches Elsa's- his eyes are blue, but not like hers. Blue like a fish's belly maybe- sickly and pale and ugly.

"My daughter," Oaken says quickly, but the SS officer's smile only grows wider. Elsa closes her eyes.

Faster than a man his size has any right to move, Oaken darts forward. His colossal fist connects with the man's jaw, lifts him off his feet, hurls him into the wall where he falls and lies unmoving. One man is no match for the secret police though, especially unarmed. Their pistols bark. The spent brass hits the ground before Oaken does.

Elsa reaches out for the magic, but she can't quite seem to get her mind around it. She tries to take it from the flowers outside but they refuse to give up their life. She tries to take it from the men who are attacking, but their minds are the sort of iron that only unthinking indoctrinated devotion can create, and Elsa's is a boiling cauldron of panic and rage and sorrow and… her heart is thrumming like a hummingbird's wings as of it knows that soon it will not be and it is trying to get a whole lifetime's worth of heartbeats in the little time she has left.

The men are not gentle when they grab her shoulders, their fingers dig through the knit wool of her shawl like augers and they force her to her knees with a dull thud. They keep their pistols pointed at her, but there's no need: she can't work the magic with only a year of practice and with the hate and sadness and panic and confusion all blending together into something like apathy- her heart doesn't seem to know what emotion ought to be dominant so none of them are. They don't kill her though, and they don't kill her mother or her father or her brother.

* * *

September 19, 1944

The walls are grey. The ground is grey. The sky is grey. The guards and their towers and their guns are all grey. When there's food, that's grey too. It's not often that there is food though- Elsa's ribs and spine and wrists and hips are all testament to that, sharp and visible whenever she undresses. She rarely does.

She's the only one left. A fever took her brother last winter- the huts have thin walls and no fire or oven, their clothes are patchwork and cheap. Nothing to keep the cold away, it's a small miracle his tiny body endured this long. Her parents not long after. They had given their meager food to him, and after he died, to her. Now it won't be long for her to join them.

Winter is here again- the harsh white German winter. Booted feet and truck wheels keep the yards clear and grey though, like everything else here. Elsa is almost looking forward to the end that must be coming. Even as she obsessively studies the book she had smuggled in. Even as she feverishly tries to work out the litch ritual, she waits almost eagerly for that end to come. Even if the Christian hell waits for her, it cannot possibly be worse than this place.

There's a loose nail in the wall by her bed. She has considered it. It wouldn't be hard, just a little tug to free it, then a little jab and peaceful oblivion. Or she could run at the fence like so many others have. Force the grey-coated guards to chew her up with their big machine guns. It would be so easy, but her parents had told her to live, and she imagines sometimes that they are watching. Imagines often enough to keep her away from the fence.

People have been disappearing lately anyway. Taken away on forced marches, almost far enough away that those who stay can't hear the machine guns. Sent to take a shower- everyone knows it isn't water that will come out of those faucets but they go anyway.

Another day.

A little bit hungrier. That indescribable emptiness, as if the absence in her stomach is trying to suck the rest of her in to fill it, and as if there's a baffling paradoxical fullness at the same time. She tries to eat dirt. It helps. Some. Another day.

Eventually, the words on the page start to make sense. The precise patterns that the magic must be forced into, the terrible source of the incomprehensible power, the way the universe moves together just so and the way to subtly alter it so that your soul can no longer fall out of it when you die. The old Egyptian text speaks of ritualistic burial bindings, and organ jars, and offerings set aside as investment for use in the afterlife. Elsa doesn't know much about any sort of afterlife, but Oaken and his friends have taught her enough about magic and about the great mysteries of the universe that she knows most of the ritual is unnecessary. Knows also ways to make the delicate gears and tributaries and reservoirs of power more efficient. Not actual gears, of course, and not actual tributaries and reservoirs. Magic is much more fickle than that and much more abstract too, but the analogy helps her to imagine it and in so imagining, to shape it to her will. Here a loop- for lack of more appropriate language- that lets much of the mind slip through. There a chain of "gearing" that steps up the magical "torque", too much and with too much of a sacrifice in responsiveness.

So she studies, and so she changes the great ritual where it has its flaws, and the days leak by like water from a cracked bucket. A sort of gradual slipping where no day feels any longer or shorter than the one before it, but all the days past have vanished into the opaque mists of the past, and all those before stretch out impossibly vast before her.

Sometimes, half mad with hunger and with the death that slowly steals up her limbs, Elsa writes great lists of foods that she would like to try one last time before she dies. Sometimes she burns those lists in a futile effort to stay warm. Always though, the thought of her parents' wishes drives her back to that impossible old spell, and the thought of their reproach should she give up keeps her at it when the hieroglyphs blur together and dance madly on the page.

For a while, she is stumped by the question of where to get the sacrifice to fuel the spell. For days, she toys with the idea of stealing the lives of those wicked grey guards, but it could never work. She could never break through the iron of their indoctrination- not mired in the swamp of her own despair at least- and though she might be able to ambush one or two with that loose nail or hers, her luck wouldn't last and much of her meager strength has been taken by her fast approaching death.

And then, one day, it clicks. Every life is a sort of power, is it not? Well this place is suffused with it. With more death than could ever be found on any battlefield. With more death than any ten cemeteries. With enough power to work that horrible ritual a dozen times over. A hundred times over maybe. Such a mighty ocean of power positively filling the air and she hadn't noticed it before, as one does not realize how bright a room is until Someone turns off the lights. So much power, she doesn't have any excuse to wait. And if she's wrong? Then it kills her, and at last she is free of this hell. What to use as a phylactery? What to bind her soul to? She must choose carefully because if it is ever destroyed, she will be too. Well, Nagash's old book has survived for three thousand years without change, won't it survive another three thousand just as easily?

She works her ritual. The shrieking of reality becoming malleable to her is lost in the constant roar of the crematorium. The way the storm clouds gather as if to proclaim "see here is one who has defeated death!" Is lost behind the perpetual clouds of ash. The way the wood of her bed flexes away from her as if afraid is lost in the apathy of her bunk mates.

And then it's done and she feels no different. Less hungry maybe, but that could be her imagination only.

Another day. She feels stronger, almost. Not physically, but the magic is closer and more responsive. With so much power laying around, perhaps she ought to work the ritual again? For some of the people marching off to meet the machineguns maybe, or perhaps the showers? Ought she not save someone at least, if it's within her power? Yes. Resoundingly, absolutely, yes. But also they ought to be given the choice. Who is Elsa to decide someone's eternity for them? How to broach the topic though, and who with?

Never once does she consider turning her magic against her captors. Too ingrained in her psyche is the knowledge that resistance is impossible. Too absolute is the illusion of Nazi invincibility. It's a pity. Had she thought to bind the cursed ash of the ones already dead into a great vengeful ushabti, or to work the invocation of Nehek over the mass graves and in so doing raise an army of the restless dead, perhaps she could have spared herself a great deal of suffering. Perhaps saved a few others.

The grey guards come for her barracks next. Cover our tracks before the allies get here is the thought. Make sure no one is left to testify to the horrors they endured. Elsa goes complacently to the showers.

Dying is such an odd experience. Not painful, exactly. A sort of peaceful release. Gone is the omnipresent hunger, and the ache in her dying limbs, and the dizziness of malnutrition. So easy to just fall, to not feel the way she hits the ground. To lie there and wonder when she will rot.

So easy to feel rough grey hands dragging her grey corpse into a pile- is that really her corpse? So thin! She doesn't think she could have lasted much longer anyway. Others are piled atop her, but she doesn't really mind. She can see the magic boiling off of them, everything their life ever was fading to join the titanic miasma of suffering that suffuses the place. It's beautiful, in its own way. The imaginary blues and greens and reds and purples- for magic is invisible of course, but the dead are much closer to it than the living.

She feels the fire- oh how she feels that. As if every nerve in her body were sending pain at its maximum capacity. She would black out from the impossible agony, but she is very very dead and the dead do not blackout. Maybe her bunk mates have all gone to the afterlife, but Elsa can see the shackles of her magic binding her to that old book, even as her soul writhes desperately to break free.

Days later, on the huge ash flows that the crematoriums of Dachau leave, something stirs. Just a mote of ash. A little anguished nothing. The magic works too well. Even without her will to direct it, even begging for oblivion, her magic knits two specks of ash together. Then three. Four. On and on, a skeleton forms, soot blackened and mangled. Ash is piled on top and no one notices. Muscles- crisp and reeking and blackened slither over the ruin of her frame. An unbeating heart congeals, a knotted core of the horrible revenant. Elsa would scream if she could see what she has become, but she has no eyes and her lungs are still melted and scattered. A brain forms, or the beginning of one, but all it can comprehend is horror and agony. The kind of agony that there are no words in any language to describe. Skin, peeling and cracked, grows over the corpse like mold on an old piece of bread.

It feels like an eternity, and maybe it was, but the thing doesn't hurt anymore. It can't feel it's own heartbeat, and that unnerves it somewhat, but at least it isn't hurting. There's something wrong, but it can't quite put its finger on it- isn't even sure if t has fingers anymore- so it waits and sobs quietly. Elsa! It's- her- name is Elsa. She sobbs. Her skin heals, breasts form, and hair, eyes, fingernails, the soft tissues of her nose and mouth and crotch that had all been the first to burn.

Elsa has no heartbeat, but she isn't burning anymore. She is naked and alone, buried under the ashes of people she knew, but she isn't hurting. It isn't so hard to wrap herself in her magic, and fade from view. It's harder to make her dead limbs climb out of the ash pile, and harder still to totter out onto the field. Guards are near, loading shoes into a truck, and Elsa looks for hers. Her little black flats that she loved so much.

There isn't really enough of Elsa to feel anything, isn't enough left to think any more than in a dream, but it will come back to her. Eventually. The numbers are still on her wrist, black and menacing and just like they came back, so too will her grief. That thought scares her a little, but only a little because there isn't much of Elsa to be scared.

* * *

 **AN: so… err… this chapter was very not on time… you may have noticed. It was also very not easy to write. You maybe guessed that too? In addition to the frustration of writing… all of it, I guess… I couldn't figure out what to do about the language. Obviously the characters in this chapter would have been speaking German to each other, and previously in this story I've been writing German dialogue in German. That's partially to obfuscate the meaning though, and I felt like a chapter of all dialogue that was difficult to understand would only frustrate the reader. What's the alternative then? German inside the quotes, and then a copy in English after as an explanation of what was said? That seemed clumsy and like it would only bog down the story, so I settled for just writing it in English and consistency be damned.**

 **Also, I hope that the descriptions didn't become too cliche. Descriptions of the extremes of sensations are difficult to render unique.**

 **Also also I hope it didn't become too graphic for a "T" rating…**


	15. Chapter 15

Elsa sits at the bar, mostly alone in the nightclub's dim lighting. Alone except for the big bartender.

"Elsa," Marshmallow grins broadly. "If you're here to dance, you're a little early. You looking for Anna?"

Elsa gives a determined shake of her head. "Anna's in class," she says quietly. "Apparently she's been skipping to spend time with me."

"Mom will be happy about that," Marshmallow winks. "So what can I do for you?" He's louder than Anna but no less boisterous.

Elsa opens her mouth, closes it again, thinks for a moment. "I don't really know how to phrase it," Elsa confesses. "The Lime Dive seems sort of… out there? As in, it revels in making people uncomfortable. How have you stayed open so long?"

Marshmallow grins. "Part of it," he says, "is that we make a big deal about how different we are. People love a scandal and all publicity is good publicity when you're a restaurant or a bar or anything else like that. I mean, not 'such-and-such a restaurant gives people food poisoning,' but pretty much anything else. Part of it is we make great drinks, and part of it is we've got a pretty sweet atmosphere. Why'd you ask? You thinking about Kristoff's Coffee?"

"Yes," Elsa blinks owlishly. "How?"

"How did I know?" The big bartender gives a conspiratorial grin. "I happen to have a very talkative sister who happens to be one of Kristoff's employees."

"Oh," Elsa says. "I didn't know you two talked that often."

"She lives with me," Marshmallow shrugs. "Be hard not to." Elsa hadn't known that.

"So," Elsa prompts. "How do we do that at Kristoff's?"

"Dunno," Marshmallow says cheerily. "I'm sure you'll figure something out. What makes you different from all the other coffee shops around?"

"We make good coffee I guess," Elsa frowns.

"That might get people to stick around once they've come once," Marshmallow replies. "That doesn't get people in the door the first time though. You need something that will get people talking. The more people talk, good or bad, the more people will hear about you guys and remember the name. The more people remember the name, the more they'll stop by to see what's up. You said you make good coffee and you're not the first I've heard that from. Get people in once and they'll keep coming back."

"We aren't unique though," Elsa says helplessly. "I don't know how we could…"

"Then Kristoff's Coffee is going to die," Marshmallow cuts in abruptly. "I think you're wrong though."

"I don't," Elsa scowls. Before she can finish the thought though, Marshmallow jabs her in the sternum with one fat finger. If she could feel a little better, it would probably hurt a good deal…

"You!" Marshmallow says loudly, impatiently, but not unkindly. "You're unique. How many other coffee shops can truthfully claim to have a litch for a barista?" Elsa shrugs and rubs her sternum self consciously. "That's right," Marshmallow nods firmly. "Friggin none. With how much people are talking about the undead in the news, everyone will want to come and see what's up."

"I…" Elsa thinks for a moment. Not Anna's sort of speaking before she knows what she wants to say, but a pensive, wise sort of thought. "I don't know I'm ok with that," she says, voice small. "I'm not going to be a circus freak. I don't want attention. I just want everyone to forget about me and leave me alone."

"That's your choice," Marshmallow tilts his head deferentially. "Speaking of," he seems to hesitate. "Do you mind, I've always been curious. What's it like?"

"What's… being dead like?" Elsa folds in on herself subconsciously. Only a little, but Marshmallow notices.

"Yeah," he leans casually over the bar but there's concern on his face. "I'm sure that's all anyone ever asks," he says. "You don't have to answer if you don't want."

"I don't really," Elsa sighs. "I suppose… I guess it's lonely and cold and… I don't really want to talk about it again. Sorry."

"Sorry?" Marshmallow scoffs. "I shouldn't have asked. It's me who should be sorry." Elsa shrugs noncommittally. "So," Marshmallow grins evilly. "You and Anna dating?"

"Dunno," Elsa drops her head into her arms. "I think so? She… hasn't exactly made a secret of liking me."

"And you clearly like her," Marshmallow hums happily.

"I wish I could get drunk," Elsa grumbles without raising her head.

"What's the holdup?" Marshmallow glances around the bar to make sure there are no empty drinks or needy patrons, and sits carefully. "I mean about you and Anna, I assume the whole not getting drunk thing is undead physiology."

"No hold up I guess," Elsa sighs. "I keep worrying that she'll finally realize what I am and run, but… I suppose she's had plenty of opportunity to."

"Yeah, my sister doesn't do the running away thing," Marshmallow grins. A cell phone rings somewhere in the bar. They ignore it. "She ever tell you about the porcupine she found when we were kids? Decided it would make a great pet…"

"No," Elsa replies.

"Ok," Marshmallow stands abruptly. "There are other bartenders, and it's about my lunch hour."

"I wish I could eat too," Elsa grumbles. The lights flicker.

"No more of that," Marshmallow raps her head- not hard, but firmly enough to make a noise. Elsa raises her head and blinks, so Marshmallow grins. It's a very Anna expression. "Anna always has lunch around now," he says. The grin looks very evil to the little litch. Still an Anna expression though. "What would you say if I told you that I know which dining hall she eats at?"

"I would remind you that I don't eat," Elsa grumbles.

"No," Marshmallow allows, "but I do, and Anna does, and you should join us."

Elsa shakes her head vigorously. "I…" she trails off. "I'm not…"

"Stop holding back," Marshmallow gives a very fatherly frown. "Just don't feel. Don't feel afraid, and if you have to be afraid, conceal it and push through and eventually, you will forget that you're trying not to be afraid and it won't be an act anymore. I know you like my sister, and I know she likes you…"

"I'm not holding back," Elsa snaps. "I told her how I feel, she told me, everything is sunshine and rainbows."

"Well it looks like you're holding back," Marshmallow crosses his arms.

"I'm not," Elsa insists stubbornly, then shrugs and looks down at the counter again. "Doesn't matter," she mumbles. "It's not like she'll put up with me for long anyway."

"You need a therapist," Marshmallow raps her head again. The lights flicker. "Sorry," he says quickly. "But… I'm pulling an Anna I guess, talking before I think. I know your life- or unlife or whatever- has been terrible. I know I can't begin to guess what you've been through, and the closest my own experiences come is this one time I kicked a bedpost really hard and broke my little toe. I know I don't know what you're dealing with, why your self esteem is lower than worm poop. I know that mental health isn't a matter of 'smile and pretend it's not there and it will go away' or anything. But what I do know is that Anna won't shut up about you, and you like her too, and I know that Anna is trying her damndest to be patient and give you your space and all that. If you want anything to come of that, you're going to have to show her that you're ready. Maybe one day she'll leave, maybe not. But I can promise you- and I've known my sister a lot longer than you have- if she ever does leave you, it won't be because she gets scared. It won't be because she suddenly starts judging you for being a litch, or because the lights sometimes flicker when you get upset. It won't be because of ass backwards laws that make me ashamed to call myself a patriot. If she ever leaves you, it will be for normal relationship drama reasons, so it's time to get off the self pity train and decide if you want to give things a try."

"I'm not on a self pity train," Elsa says, but despite her strong words, her voice is weak. "I told her I love her."

"Great," Marshmallow nods. "Now show her. Show up at lunch without warning. That's romantic as shit."

"Romantic," Elsa scowls. "Sure. What if she doesn't want me there? What if she's with her friends, and she doesn't want them to see her with a litch?"

"Do you honestly think Anna knows- or cares- enough about what other people think of her for that to be true?" Marshmallow throws his apron on the counter and moves around it to go. "You coming?"

"Fine," Elsa stands.

The walk isn't long- the nightclub is built near the university for obvious reasons. It goes quickly- in part, because there are no protestors making problems today. The university's architecture is a mad jumble of styles; that dormitory is all glass and concrete and modern, that lecture hall is red brick and white columns. The dining hall is somewhere in between. Ugly concrete pillars, a boringly flat roof, brick walls, a double glass door with a bit of cardboard box taped over where some inebriated patron put his foot through.

The dining hall is loud. Dozens of little cliques compete to hear themselves, but whatever long-outdated philosophy they think they've discovered for the first time, and whatever amature poetry they imagine to be movingly unique, it all blends together into a sort of startling hubbub. Elsa hesitates at the door, but Marshmallow's hand on her back offers the kind of gentle encouragement that says it's easier to go in than to try to resist. She bites her lip but complies with the firm suggestions of the large hand.

A waitress looks up from her phone and stops them at her podium as they enter, the signage placed in such a way as to funnel customers past her. Marshmallow produces a card, hands it over.

"One," he says. "She's not eating." Elsa doesn't make eye contact.

"We don't allow anyone in without paying," the waitress takes his card. "Too many people who 'aren't eating' end up with full plates."

"It's fine," Elsa produces a crumpled wad of cash, doesn't count it, and thrusts it quickly at the waitress.

"She doesn't eat," Marshmallow says firmly. He gently presses down on Elsa's arm and she lets it fall without paying. Marshmallow leans over the podium- he can be quite tall when he chooses, Elsa observes internally. "She's dead," he says in a stage whisper. If Elsa could blush, she would be the color of Anna's hair.

"I…" the waitress frowns. "Ew," she says, but it doesn't sound intentional so Elsa tries not to let it sting. "Whatever, go on," the waitress relents after a moment. She returns the card, and Marshmallow steers Elsa towards the far corner.

Anna looks up from an animated argument as they approach her table, "and I'm telling you that you're a choad that only thinks with his… Hi Elsa," Anna grins broadly, stands. "Marshmallow," She scowls and looks between the two. "Did you… Elsa, you ok?"

Elsa nods firmly, but glances around uneasily.

"Awesome," Anna grins. "Awesome," she says again and delivers the lightest ghosting of a hug. Elsa tries very hard not to freeze, but Anna pulls away quickly so Elsa isn't sure how successful she was. "Marsh' you're a stinker," Anna scowls, punches his shoulder. She has to stand on her toes and stretch in order to reach. "C'mon Elsa, there's a open seat beside mine."

"It's open because it's the splash zone," Rapunzel says, and gives a small wave. Eugene is beside her, and two others that Elsa doesn't recognize.

"Splash zone?" Elsa sits carefully. Anna drops beside her and drapes one arm casually around Elsa's boney shoulders. The suave unconcern is undermined somewhat by the probing glance she shoots at Elsa to make sure it's all right…

"Anna likes soup," Eugene grins cockily, and mirrors Anna's action with her cousin. Rapunzel shrugs him off easily. "Anna also likes to gesture wildly when she gets excited."

"Which is all the time," Rapunzel supplies.

A chair creaks as Marshmallow sits. "And when she gestures," Marshmallow grins evilly and rubs his shoulder, "and when she has soup, that soup tends to… splash."

"That was once!" Anna brandishes her spoon threateningly at her brother. The comfortable weight on Elsa's shoulders starts to lessen, Anna is shifting to release her, a concealed concern on the redhead's freckled face.

"It's fine," Elsa says quickly, but she isn't sure if she's speaking of the so-called splash zone, or Anna's comfortingly possessive arm. She leans into the half-embrace and rests her head on Anna's shoulder to make sure Anna knows it's ok…

"This is Sven," Anna says after a beat and points to the shaggier of the two strangers with her spoon. "He's a right stinker. That's Olaf. He means well, but he's not very smart."

"I'm smart enough to stay out of your splash zone," he grins playfully. He's short for a college age boy, his hair is the color of newly fallen snow- Elsa wonders if his family is from anywhere she might know.

"I still say it's not discrimination not to be attracted to dead people," Sven rumbles. His hair is black like coal, only a few shades darker than his skin. "I don't have a problem with them, I think they should have the same rights as everyone else, and I think these new laws are wrong, I just can't get excited about sleeping with someone who's… can you imagine, the cold, nasty skin? Like sleeping with a fish…"

"I can imagine, actually," Anna glances at Elsa, flushes brilliantly, and glances away. "You're still a choad."

"Am not," he frowns. Anna sticks her tongue out at him.

"I…" Rapunzel frowns, glances at Elsa. "I don't think it's wrong not to be attracted to someone?"

Eugene nods enthusiastically. "I'm not attracted to fat people. That doesn't mean I have a problem with them, I have fat parents and they're great people, I just don't want a fat wife."

"You're a pig," Rapunzel swats him half-playfully.

"All bodies are beautiful," Olaf's face is screwed up in what looks like concentration. "Eugene is fat shaming."

"Let's change the topic," Marshmallow glances at Elsa. She forces a smile to show him it's alright. "Really," he says. "Topic change. Now."

"It's fine," Elsa says quietly.

"It's…" Sven frowns. "Oh my god," he says. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know…"

"Didn't know what?" Olaf asks.

"Elsa's a litch," Anna smiles proudly, and gives Elsa's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"You think she maybe didn't want everyone to know that?" Marshmallow frowns sternly.

"It's fine," Elsa says again. "I'd rather people know now than feel tricked when they find out later."

"I'm so sorry," Sven interjects. "I didn't mean… god, you must think I'm such a prick…" Elsa shrugs noncommittally. He goes on. "I don't think you're ugly. You're really… no one would ever know just by looking…"

"Thanks," Elsa frowns.

"Like, if you were in a…" Sven trails off. "I'm sorry," he says again.

"Sven, hand the shovel to someone else," Rapunzel says, "you've dug your hole deep enough."

"Just throwing it out there," Eugene says cheerily, "I never said anything about the undead… if you two ever need anyone to…"

"Finish that thought and I castrate you," Rapunzel interrupts.

"You can't help what you're attracted to," Elsa says, voice small. "I don't mind… I don't really like that I'm always so cold either. It matters to me that you think I deserve to be treated the same as a person." She can just barely hear sirens in the distance.

"But you are a person," Sven gives a confused frown. If he was going to say anything else though, Elsa doesn't get to hear it- they are interrupted by a man running into the dining hall. His hair looks dark and matted, blood stains his temple and cheek.

Elsa reaches out with the magic- just a cut in his scalp. Head wounds bleed profusely, but this one isn't life threatening so Elsa lets the magic go. There's a lot of power in the air though, much more than she would expect. Turbulent too, all eddies and swirls, like there are spells just out of sight stirring it up, but Elsa hasn't cast anything today…

"Skeletons!" The bloodied man cries out. "Coming from the morgue!"

There _are_ spells stirring up the magic. The Invocation of Nehek, or a bastardized attempt at it at least. Anna seems to put it together at about the same time as Elsa; "Professor Gottle," she breathes. "Oh god, I should never have had her translate your book…"

* * *

 **AN: One million thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! There were many reviews, and my life is super bleh right now... I read every review and fully intended to reply, and then didn't... My apologies. Please don't let that stop you from reviewing... Love me sempai...**


	16. Chapter 16

"Ow," Elsa says flatly. "Ow. Please stop."

The skeleton doesn't seem to hear her. It's teeth are buried firmly in her shoulder, through two layers of fabric and well into the meat of the joint. Elsa's thick, dead blood runs down her arm like molasses.

Anna can barely breathe; her beloved little litch… Her tortured, fragile, traumatized girlfriend, bleeding… The skeleton is horrifying almost beyond comprehension, moist scraps of ruined gristle clinging to its joints like clumps of gory moss, scraps of lank grey hair hanging from its peeling scalp, horrible green flames burning hungrily in its empty eye sockets. Anna only has eyes for her litch though. She tries to reach out for the magic, anything to help, but there's a blinding hurricane of it, and she can't make much out… An intricate lattice of blazing spells forming around Elsa, a storm of barely contained eldritch wrongness elsewhere. Anna thwacks the skeleton on the back of its skull with her text book. There's a nauseating sloshing sound, but her attack seems to have no other effect.

"Shield of Aseph," Elsa grumbles. "It always gives me trouble. Sorry. Um. Curse of Years?" The magic blazes brighter about her, the titanic driving gear of all her half-formed spells rotates, a splinter of power flows out, trickles through precisely formed tributaries, and expresses itself on the world. A half-visible haze, and the skeleton seems to age. It's hair grows brittle, breaks, falls away. The remnants of its flesh dry, desiccate, crumble to dust. The bones yellow, crack, eventually nothing is left of the horror. Elsa brushes her shoulder distractedly. "Asshole," she mutters.

"Are you ok?" Anna asks timidly. Elsa nods.

"You?" Elsa asks. She keeps her hands open and low, as if to show that she isn't a threat. Anna can't imagine being scared of her beloved Elsa. The redhead lowers her text book and glances around. Most of the other students are pressed together at the far door, ineffectually tripping over each other in their rush to escape. A few lurk near Elsa as if to shelter behind her, but their expressions seem uncertain.

"You're going to have to teach me how to do that," Anna says. "Your… you're bleeding?"

"It's nothing," Elsa squints up at the roof- or the magic beyond. "Anna, your professor is an idiot. Oh, relax you lot, I don't bite." The nearby students grimace ruefully at the direct address but do not approach.

"An idiot?" Anna asks. She still can't quite make sense of the spells flirting through the air.

"Clumsy, brutish, ineffectual," Elsa replies. "I somehow doubt that uncontrollable undead army was her… look out… Curse of Years." A skeleton trying to force itself through the window stops being.

"Oh," Anna frowns, and tries to watch the machinery of the spell work… it doesn't look _too_ hard to replicate. Anna giggles.

"What?" Elsa blinks owlishly at her and Anna can't quite hold in another snort.

"You're calling out the names of your attacks like an anime character," Anna snickers.

"It helps me visualize what I'm trying to do," Elsa shrugs uncomfortably. "You aren't scared?"

"Oh I'm fucking terrified," Anna confesses. "But I trust you, and you're making short work of those skeletons. That spell hard?"

"Not particularly," Elsa replies. "Wish I brought Pabbie's Luger though."

"So you could shoot some skeletons instead?" Anna glances around, just in case. The students clustered at the door seem to have sorted themselves out and are rapidly streaming from the building.

"No," Elsa bites her lip and Anna thinks she looks nervous, but she can't imagine what about. "It's almost got enough magic in it for the litch ritual. I could make you… I mean… if you wanted… Curse of Years. God damn it. Maximize Curse of Years." The air shrieks with strain, eldritch excess arcs off of Elsa like lightning, grounds itself in the peeling linoleum of the floor. The skeleton that drew her ire stumbles, ages visibly, but keeps coming. "Really?" Elsa frowns.

"You would make me immortal?" Anna smiles broadly, spares the skeleton a glance. "Oh that would be amazing…"

"Anna," Elsa cuts her off. "Is there any way at all that we could have this conversation another time? Gaze of Nagash." The skeleton detonates. The magical plume of the spell leaves Anna seeing stars for a moment. The huge gear driving Elsa's spells wobbles for a moment. "I know I prompted it, but… Literally, any other time. At all. Just not when I'm cleaning up your mess…" there are sirens in the distance. "That was uncalled for," Elsa bows her head. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, that was probably extremely called for," Anna agrees. "I should have thought about it before giving your book to someone to… come to think of it, how does one tell if someone is likely to go all zombie apocalypse on you? Er, skeleton apocalypse. Why can't I take this seriously?"

"That one was a wight I think," Elsa mutters. "You're probably in shock."

"Oh," Anna says. "Yeah, that makes sense I guess. We running, or holding up here?"

"Staying here, I think," Elsa says. She looks around as if begging anyone to have a better idea. When none are forthcoming, she continues. Her voice wobbles with uncertainty. "It'll be chaos outside, and I'm not sure what all your professor managed to raise? Uh, here, we have only a few windows and fires to watch, and we won't draw any more attention? Probably?"

"Good thinking," Anna sidles up closer to her girlfriend. "That hurt?" She points at Elsa's shoulder. The litch shrugs.

"Not particularly," she says, and frowns at the other students sheltering near her. A few are recognizable; Anna's friends from before, her brother, the rest are strangers. "I don't really… feel… things…. Marshmallow, you're strong, see if you can prop up one of those tables to barricade a window? I mean, unless you have a better idea?" Elsa bites her lip. Her words seem to jolt the big man out of his terrorized stupor, and he nods.

"Good idea," he says, and places his hands on the edge of the table they had eaten lunch at. Their meals are still untouched, and those best served warm are still steaming gently. "Here, someone help me with this."

"Shield of Aseph," Elsa mutters again, but there still doesn't seem to be any effect.

"Can I help?" Anna smiles as encouragingly as she knows how.

"No," Elsa says simply. "Now is not the time for you to start experimenting with magic. Shield of Aseph." A shimmering, half-real barrier springs into existence around Anna.

In spite of their preparations- or perhaps because of them- the little group isn't accosted by anything else. No skeletons climbing through the windows- fewer windows, now that Marshmallow and Sven are barricading them- and no wights coming through the doors, shrugging off Elsa's spells. The sirens get closer.

Elsa doesn't go off in search of the mad professor, and there is no great magical confrontation. Elsa is content simply to wait in the cafeteria with her human, content to protect the girl she loves. Gottle isn't stupid enough to seek out a powerful litch, doesn't see any gain in a confrontation that she knows she will lose.

There's yelling outside; gruff voices, both male and female. "On the ground! Get on the ground!" yells one. "Open door left, clear," another. "Two for triage, county. Is rescue six available?" still another. "Closed door right. Breach breach," the door crashes open. Elsa turns to look, magic ready and writhing about her thin fingers in case it's another Undead assailant. No undead, just men and women in heavy black Kevlar with heavier blacker rifles. Police, stenciled in White across their chests and helmets.

"On the ground!" One yells, and points with her rifle as another shouts for hands. A loud crack cuts them off, a flash of light, the smell of burnt cordite.

"Ow," Elsa grumbles. A splash of deep red- almost maroon- on her thin chest like a red rose that a prom date might pin to their jacket. Another crack. Another red flower. "Ow," she says again. "Please stop." A third gunshot tugs Elsa's shoulder back.

The man drops his gun and raises his hands halfway as if to ward off any recrimination that might come his way. Hiis squadmates hesitate. "Oh my god," he says, voice small. "Oh my god. I saw magic and I thought… oh my god."

* * *

Professor Gottle is not taken into custody. Her barely understood, willfully deceptive spells turn on her before the police can get to her and all that is left is a charred corpse and a few scraps of singed paper. In the days following the catastrophe, forensic experts and medical examiners work over Gottle's corpse, match it to her dental records, and that is that. Damning evidence clutters her office, now secure behind a police cordon, and multiple eyewitnesses report seeing her entering or leaving the morgue several times in the past week. The college's electronic keycard readers corroborate their story.

Memorial services are held for the dead, and candlelight vigils for the survivors as friends and families wait to hear the results of critical surgeries. Elsa is not arrested, but it feels like imprisonment to the old litch.

* * *

"...emergency meeting of congress in response to…" the perky reporter announces, fake hair bouncing with her overly enthusiastic movements.

"No," Elsa says. Anna's freckled thumb twitches on the remote and the channel changes.

"...presidential order sixty-four. Also called the 'Black Magic Order,' it is now illegal to use certain types of magic characterized by necromancy, or utilizing the so-called life force of humans. Also included is any spell which is accompanied by death, or otherworldly shrieking…"

"No," Elsa says again. Anna's thumb twitches again.

"...including Rice, Stanford, and Harvard, are denying admission to known litches in what they are calling the 'Humans First Movement.' These institutions claim that their actions do not violate anti-discrimination laws because litchdom is a choice, not a naturally occurring demographic. The American Undeath League has this to say." The screen cuts to a beautiful woman, tall and olive skinned. She sits on a titanic granite throne, the flickering light of green fire caught in her raven hair. Her eyes sparkle with untapped arcane might. "Though some litches did choose to enact the rituals for themselves, it is fallacious to say that all did. Of course, that is entirely tangential to the argument about whether litches like myself deserve protection under America's anti-discrimination laws. Religion may, broadly speaking, be a choice, but it is exactly as protected from discrimination as sexuality, race, or gender." The camera cuts back to the reporter and his charming salt-and-pepper hair. "That was Esmeralda, the spokesperson for the American Undeath League. Thank you for joining us today Esmeralda. Now, to Jane in New York…" a tall blond woman, pea coat bundled tight about her. A vast crowd stands about her, so many people that the faces blend together into a horrible hateful sea. "Death to the dead," the chant over and over again. Anna changes the channel before Elsa asks her to.

"The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers."

"Yeah," Elsa does her best to shrug through the thick casts. "Alright."

"Good choice," Anna gives a concerned smile. "You seen Star Wars before?"

"Can't say that I have," Elsa replies. The door opens. A nurse comes through, glances at the monitor, purses her lips.

"You're making quite the hole in my round reports, young lady," the nurse glowers. "The system won't accept 'zero' for your heart rate. Can you at least breathe a little for me?" Elsa glares, but takes a few deliberate breaths. She decides not to mention that she is about twice the nurse's age. "Excellent," the nurse says cheerily. "And how are we feeling today young lady?"

"I'm not," Elsa scowls.

"Uh-huh," the nurse dutifully enters the response into her tablet. "And do you want anything before I go?"

"I want to leave," Elsa says.

"Well hon, your bones still haven't set," the nurse puts her hands on her hips. "You can't go moving around until you've healed. Don't want them to set wrong, now do we?"

"Don't care," Elsa tries- and fails- to shrug.

"Honey," the nurse says. The way she says the endearment is not dissimilar to how one might say 'child'. "You don't want one mistake to ruin your pretty arms forever, do you?" Elsa glares. The nurse seems to take that as agreement, so she goes on. "There are a few lovely men from the police station here to talk to you. Are you up for visitors?" She glances at Anna. "I mean, other visitors?" The hospital staff has tried to remove Anna exactly as many times as they have failed.

"I guess," Elsa pouts.

* * *

 **AN: so, I was going to end this chapter right after Elsa got shot, but I figured that if I stopped a chapter on that much of a cliffhanger, and then took as long writing the next chapter as this one took, you all might grab your torches and pitchforks and "explain" your displeasure to me with them… Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was very not easy to write. I know I keep saying that, but they just keep getting harder to write...**


	17. Chapter 17

"How're you feeling ma'am?" One of the officers sits carefully on the corner of her bed. His voice is startlingly deep. The other stays standing. He looks vaguely familiar to Elsa, but she can't quite place him.

"Bored," she grumbles. "They say my shoulder is still shattered."

"I'm… sorry to hear that miss Elsa." The sitting officer purses his lips in thought. "My name is captain Phoebus. I'm chief of police around here. Can I call you Elsa?"

"No," Elsa frowns suspiciously.

"Elsa play nice," Anna admonishes.

"They shot me!" Elsa leans forward and points. A machine beeps. The nurse's voice can be faintly heard from the other room, telling her to lie still. Elsa pouts. "I think I'm entitled to a little bit of grumpiness."

"Oh," Anna runs her hand bashfully through her coppery bangs. "Right. What do you choad lickers want with my Elsa anyway?"

A vexed narrowing of the eyes, tightening of the lips, and then the police captain's face is perfectly composed again. "We wanted to offer an official apology on behalf of…"

Anna screws up her face and takes a deep breath. Captain Phoebus pauses comically, mid sentence. "Cum-guzzling poop-sniffing sidewalk-licking assholes." Anna declares loudly. "Trigger-happy…"

"Miss!" The other officer growls. He's short and stocky, but there's a strength in him. Not unlike a cinderblock wall. "You listen here you little…" his captain puts a hand on his shoulder. He sputters worslessly for a moment. "Tryin' 'na 'pollogize. An' everyone shits on the cops an' you…"

"Yao!" Captain Phoebus snaps. Then, more patiently, "Miss, please accept my deepest apologies. Both for the unfortunate overzealousness of one of my officers at the university, and for Yao being an uncultured swine. The mistake at the university was unacceptable, and the officer responsible has been placed on administrative leave."

Elsa scowls.

"We will of course, pay for all of your medical bills," Phoebus smiles winningly. "Is there anything else we can do to make it up to you?"

"I…" For a moment, the set of the litch's face seems to show anger and frustration and a dozen pent up emotions from four times as many years, but Elsa deflates before she can say anything else. It might be the badges on their chests, it might be the authority they represent- authority that reminds Elsa all too strongly of the men that shipped her off to Dachau- it's hard to tell quite what's going on behind Elsa's guarded sapphire eyes. "It's fine," she says instead, voice small. "I just want to be left alone."

"No," Anna stands abruptly. Both officers flinch. "It's not fine! Your officer shot her! Maybe Yao is pretty chill. He at least wasn't an ass during Elsa's off day a while back," so _that's_ where Elsa recognizes him from, "but you people don't get off with a 'we're sorry' and some medical bills!"

"It's fine, Anna," Elsa sounds almost tired. She looks down, let's her long silvery hair block off the world like some sort of protective curtain.

"You are a very angry little woman," Yao grins broadly towards Anna. "I like ya'. Seems like a little dead girl like her needs someone like you."

"Yao, shut up," the captain snaps, looks at the ceiling for a long moment.

"Yes I'm angry," Anna doesn't sit. "You. People. Fucking. Shot. My. Girlfriend. I'm writing a really awesome article about police brutality towards the dead you know. I'm a journalism major."

"Now is… not a good time for something like that to get published," Captain Phoebus says carefully. "I'm not sure Elsa wants the kind of attention that would bring. That isn't a threat, mind you. There's some very discriminatory legislation coming through these days. By and large, we figure it doesn't necessarily need to be enforced. Banning magic that we don't understand just because it's a little cosmetically alarming? Arresting litches for failing to pay taxes when legally they didn't exist? That's off the record by the way, publish it and I'll deny it. Point is, we here on the street level mostly do our best to protect and serve. The couple of my officers that aren't so open minded, I try to give patrols in parts of the city that don't have litches. We want to leave you alone. Make a big enough stink though, and maybe someone higher up decides we need to save face by discrediting our little miss Elsa here- I'm sorry, your last name isn't on file. I know you said I couldn't call you Elsa."

"It's fine," Elsa sighs again.

"So _that's_ why you're here," Anna yells. "You…"

"Ma'am," The captain cuts in, and directs a warning glance at Yao. "Please. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place here."

"A rock, being the law, and a hard place being goddamned human decency," Yao growls. "Er, people decency? Human count litches?"

"Just so," Captain Phoebus allows. "We can- quietly- offer reparations. I can maybe get you a written apology if you want, but people are getting nasty. You understand?"

"I understand," Elsa nods. He glares at Anna until she nods sheepishly.

"Right," the police chief sighs gratefully. "So, you'll want to talk to your lawyer of course, but provided you're willing to settle out of court and not make too big a deal of it, I can probably get the DA to shell out around five hundred thousand. Our lawyers will nail down the brass tacks later. Is there anything else we can help you with?"

"Half a million dollars?" Elsa says.

"Half a million dollars?" Anna squeaks.

"So basically, you want to throw money at me so I'm quiet," Elsa says.

"Yep," Yao agrees.

"I was going to use less objectionable language," Captain Phoebus sighs, "but essentially, yes."

"All right," Elsa nods slowly. "I can do quiet. I don't like being the center of attention anyway. Can you get me out of this place too, or is that asking too much?"

"Mention that you are a mentally sound adult wishing to leave," Captain Phoebus stands. "Maybe also mention kidnapping charges. See how fast they get you out of here."

"I'm legally an adult?" Elsa sits forward abruptly. The machine complains.

"I… assume so," the police chief frowns. "How old are you, exactly? I was told you… remember Nazi Germany?"

"I was seventeen in nineteen-forty-four," Elsa replies. "That's when I became a litch, and I haven't changed physically since then?"

"I," Phoebus chokes.

"You're ninety-three?" Anna yells. "Holy tit-balls!"

"..." Elsa says eloquently.

"..." Phoebus agrees sagely. "I think you are probably legally an adult," he says finally.

"Oh," Elsa says. "Good. Um, that's fine then I guess."

"Well," Phoebus holds out his hand. Elsa doesn't take it, so he wipes it awkwardly on his pant leg and turns to go. "That's that then. Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope you don't have to see me again." He leaves when it becomes clear the two women don't plan to reply.

"Well they were pretty disarming," Anna says once the door closes. "I guess they're probably ok. And half a million?"

"Notice how they failed to mention money until you were threatening to publish something," Elsa points out dispassionately.

* * *

"Elsa!" Anna yells cheerfully as she flounces into Kristoff's little coffee shop. "Guess what guess what guess what?"

Elsa looks slowly up from her drawing. Charcoal smudges her pale fingers like so much soot. "Germany has announced that they are tearing down Dachau," she says slowly.

"I…" Anna frowns. "Well yeah. How'd you guess?" Elsa points up at the television- now off and quiet. "Oh," Anna wilts somewhat. "How do you feel?"

"I don't," Elsa shrugs. The bandages are bulky, but less restrictive than the casts were.

"I meant about Dachau," Anna sits next to her and places her arm around Elsa's shoulders- the lightest ghosting of a touch to avoid jostling Elsa's still-healing bones. "It's good that you aren't in pain though."

"I'm…" Elsa worries at her lip. "I don't know. Things ought not be forgotten, no matter how terrible. Perhaps especially if they're terrible. At the same time though… I really really hate that place."

"Hmm," Anna agrees wordlessly and leans her head against Elsa's, still careful of the shoulder. "Whatcha drawing?" It looks like a collection of long buildings, tall towers, high barbed fences. Everything is twisted though. Terrible and difficult to look at. Wrought by an artist of lesser skill it might look like a mistake, but from Elsa it's obviously intentional and deeply uncomfortable. Anna peers closer and all of the twisted, weathered planks are made of tiny screaming faces. The loops of barbed wire seem branching and flickering like metal flames. Anna gasps softly.

"I'm drawing Dachau," Elsa says quietly. "As I remember it, that is. As much as it hurt, it shouldn't be forgotten."

"I can't…" Anna chokes. "Jesus. That's really well done, but… Jesus… are you finished?"

"Near enough that I don't think I need to keep going," Elsa shrugs.

"Good," Anna says. A long moment passes as Elsa seals the charcoal so it won't smudge and puts away the drawing. "So," Anna grins shakily. "I got you something." Elsa tilts her head wordlessly and Anna goes on. "So, the hot uber-smoothie wasn't a hit. You were trying to be polite about it, but don't worry I'm not going to try that again. Naw, this is like a hundred and ten percent more awesomer." She takes out a small knit sack from her satchel. "There's this undead store in Portland that I went to- most of what they had looked like, why? Like shit you don't need, you know? Like there were calcium shakes. Why? It's not like you eat or drink anything? I'm rambling, aren't I? Anyway. Batchow! Hand warmers! They're like.. mitten things? With like electric heaters in them? I thought… since you like warm things? To warm your hands? Like coffee? That's part of why you like coffee, right? And I mean, the hand warmers could cover your tattoo? I mean, if you want? I can take it back. Sorry."

"That sounds great," Elsa smiles, and it seems like a honest, grateful smile. "That's really… thank you."

Anna smiles and passes over the bag. The litch dons the mittens and delivers a quick kiss to the crown of Anna's head. Anna doesn't move for a few long seconds, not even to breathe. "I'm glad you like," she squeaks. "Um. It's uhhh. It's Christmas soon. And I." Anna takes a deep breath to collect herself. "I always go to my parents house for Christmas every year and would you like to come and it's fine if you don't and also Marshmallow will be there and it will be great and you should come."

"I thought humans needed to breathe," Elsa mutters and flexes her mittened fingers. "I'd love to go but I have an obligation with Kristoff's store. Christmas is always our busiest season."

"Shot people don't work in my store until they're all healed," Kristoff calls from the other room.

"I'm healed enough," Elsa pouts. Anna grins expectantly. "Alright," Elsa says after a beat. "I'll go to your Christmas thing with you. When is it?"

"A few days," Anna's smile threatens to bisect her head. "I'll get you the details next time I find my phone. I… wait, can't you heal yourself with magic?"

"Not legally," Elsa sighs. "Not anymore. I probably wouldn't anyway though. Healing takes a lot of power and that power has to come from somewhere. It's just a shoulder and a couple of ribs. I'll live. I always do." She sounds just a little bit bitter.

"Oh," Anna winces. Anything to change the topic- "so, how are you going to spend your half a million?"

"I… was planning to remodel Kristoff's shop," Elsa says slowly. "Assuming he's ok with it. I mean, we probably shouldn't be watching TV on the serving floor? It makes it look like we don't care? And the floor? If we had actual tile instead of peeling linoleum? And I don't think fireplaces are too expensive?"

"Kristoff does mind," Kristoff calls from the other room, and emerges. He glances at the two women, hesitates. "You two are adorable," he says. Anna gives a broad grin and a thumbs up. Elsa hides behind her hair. "I do mind, actually. Elsa, that's your money. I can't let you throw it at my problem. There's no guarantee that it would fix anything. That's a terrible investment. Put it in stocks or something. You'll do better."

Elsa shakes her head firmly, but the determination she means to convey is undermined somewhat by the way she still lets her hair hide her from the world. "Kristoff," she says, voice small. Anna gives her uninjured shoulder a light squeeze and Elsa continues. "This place is the closest thing to a home I've got left. I want to help. And anyway, if I invest it, it'll be gone soon. I know how these things work. After the arrests for trumped-up charges there will be roundups, people like me forced into certain poor sections of the city, then the confiscations. If I have a giant pile of money laying around invested or something, it will just get taken."

"I'm sure it won't get to that point," Anna says reassuringly. "The government can't just steal from its citizens like that."

"That's what we thought," Elsa says quietly but both humans can hear her clearly. "My father was a banker. We weren't poor. We had investments and savings. Had a nice house and a car- not everyone had a car back then. That was important."

"I…" Anna gives a concerned frown. "Well it won't get to that point here," she says firmly. Elsa shrugs.

"Elsa," Kristoff says gently and joins the two women at their table. "That's still your money. You could use it to leave if… we don't want you to leave, but you could. That's plenty to buy a house somewhere, maybe in Germany? I hear they're kinder to the undead than we are. Set yourself up for a good while?"

"No," Elsa says. "I couldn't leave Anna, and I couldn't ask her to leave her whole life behind for me." Anna would mention that she can publish her articles from any continent, but Elsa continues too quickly for her to get a word in edgewise. "You're here, your shop is here, I don't want to leave. This is my home, and I'm going to save it. I'll spend my money how I want."

"I can't let you throw money at someone else's shop," Kristoff replies. "So if you insist, I suppose this can't be my shop any more. Or not only my shop, at least. What do you say? Partners?"

Elsa hesitates for a long minute. She looks up through her hair. Her expression is unreadable. "Sure," she says slowly. "Partners. But… I'm still worried about confiscations. They can take property just as easy as money."

"Then it can stay under my name," Kristoff shrugs unconcerned. "I'll pay you half the profits on top of your normal wage of course, and if it ever looks like I'm trying to screw you out of your share, you can set my soul on fire or something. Or Anna will break my kneecaps with a baseball bat. Or Pabbie will shoot me. Deal?"

"Deal," Elsa allows a small hopeful smile to escape.

"Only, we'll have to rename it," Kristoff muses. "Kristoff's Coffee just doesn't work if it's only half mine. And half a million dollars goes a lot farther than a fireplace and a few tiles."

"We…" Elsa hesitates. She remembers Marshmallow's words on the topic. Remembers also her concerns. Screw it. "We're going to need something to set us apart from all the competition," she says, determined. Each word is deliberate and hard to say. Like a heavy hammer blow on a bent nail. "I'm a litch. That's unusual. We can use that to get people in the door."

"Yes," Kristoff beams. "I like it. We can call it 'Corpse Cafe,' really go whole hog. Decorate accordingly. Sandstone and stuff. Egypt theme, like the original litches."

"Elsa," Anna holds her frail little litch close. "Are you sure you're ok with that?"

"I'm sure," Elsa staples on a brave face. "Corpse Cafe. It's grotesque, but it definitely gets people's attention."

Kristoff beams. "This is going to be great," he promises. "We can have bronze scarabs to decorate, maybe make some fake mummies."

"Maybe make some real mummies," Elsa dips her head self consciously. "Make them eat Hans if he ever shows his stupid face here again."

"Tabling that…" Kristoff grimaces. "Hey Anna, you ever hear how Elsa and I met?"

"No?" Anna leans forward excitedly.

* * *

 **AN: this is sorta-almost-maybe the conclusion of the first arc, but don't worry there will be more. There are way too many questions left unanswered to just end it here. More, the end of a season of a tv show than the end of the tv show entire. There will be a flashback chapter because people have wondered previously how Kristoff and Elsa met, and flashback chapters have been met well thus far, then we will continue with your regularly scheduled broadcast. "Regularly" here meaning sporadically updated and occasionally languishing on a cliffhanger. Ahem. As always, a thousand thanks to everyone who reviewed! I really really love every one of them, and I do read them all, even if life has been super hectic and I've sort of dropped the ball on replying to them recently...**

 **Also, public service announcement: if you find yourself riding in an ambulance for whatever reason, please do not grope the EMT/Paramedic. I can assure you, it is not welcome, and it has to go in the attending physician's run report. It's not fun to have it happen, it's not fun to try to figure out how to write it diplomatically, just maybe don't do it? Happens way too often…**


	18. Chapter 18

_February 21, 2017_

"Miss?" Kristoff's voice is gruff but kind. Elsa looks up slowly. There are deep bags under her eyes, her skin is wan, but her eyes are a clear and brilliant blue. Kristoff is momentarily taken aback.

"Sorry," she says quietly. "I understand. I'll be going now. No need for trouble." She stands, but her shoulders are hunched as if expecting a blow to fall.

"Uhh what?" Kristoff frowns. "No, no, no, no. I didn't mean that. I just wanted to see if there was something wrong with the coffee?" The lights of the little coffee shop give a little flicker.

"The coffee is fine," Elsa says carefully, thin hands clasped about her sweater covered elbows. How odd, that in February, in the Pacific Northwest, she only wears a sweater.

The television drones on in the background. Something about an emergency meeting of the United Nations and policy toward the recently unveiled undead. Kristoff doesn't bother to listen; there are estimated to be fewer than three thousand litches in the United States. That's less than one in every hundred thousand people, about a thousandth of a percent of the population. Chances are, he'll run across one in the street one day, but he won't recognize them for what they are, and no one he knows personally is likely to be one. "I'm just making sure," Kristoff raises his hands disarmingly. Elsa flinches and he feels bad for alarming her. "I've seen you in here a lot, I don't want to lose one of my most loyal customers."

"Your coffee is ok," Elsa shrugs self consciously. Her eyes are so clear, so beautiful, and so wounded. What could have possibly happened to such a young girl to break her so thoroughly?

"It's just, you didn't drink it," Kristoff takes a step back and the girl seems to calm somewhat.

"I…" she bites her lip nervously. Kristoff wonders what could possibly worry her in a conversation about coffee. Maybe it's unrelated? "I'm sorry," she says. Her words are a jumble. "I never drink. Or eat. That's why I learned to make it myself, but sometimes it's nice to just sit and enjoy the atmosphere. I'm sorry."

Kristoff can't imagine what she could have to be sorry for. And then it clicks. Never eats? Never drinks? She's dead. Her eyes are so clear though. He had expected the dead to have cloudy corpse eyes. It's obvious when he knows to look though. The way she hugs herself as if she's about to blow apart the moment a stiff breeze comes up. The way her shoulders seem to carry a burden heavier than her age could possibly produce. The way she flinches away from every movement like a kicked puppy. Kristoff's heart breaks a little. "Why do you get coffee then, if you don't drink it?" he's asking before he thinks not to.

"It smells good," she says quietly, those beautiful gemstone eyes fixed on the grimy linoleum. "And it's warm…" that seems to be all the words she has available. Kristoff silently berates himself for his indiscretion.

"You said you make coffee?" He sits slowly, to show he isn't a threat. The girl nods. "Want to show me?" he asks gently. She shrugs. "What's your name," Kristoff stands again and leads her to the gleaming appliances.

"Elsa," she says quietly. Kristoff wonders at the way she flinches when they pass the oven.

The coffee she makes is delicious and Kristoff knows instantly that he needs her in his failing shop. It can't be described as a cappuccino- too much chocolate, a delicate swirl of whipped cream. It isn't a mocha. Kristoff isn't sure what it is, only that his coffee shop must sell it. It's delicate and sweet. Shy and beautiful. Like it's creator. Elsa stands there, looking at the ground, hands twisted together as he tries it. And keeps on trying it. And wonders which five star restaurant he will have to try to hire her away from.

"This is good," he says and watches a tiny proud smile flit across her perfect face. "Good isn't the right word. Great. Fantastic. I don't even have words. Where do you work?"

"I don't," she shrugs, points to a small battered black case on her table. "I play the violin. Street corners, not operas. I get by."

Oh! Oh oh oh! Kristoff has a lucky star and it is shining bright today! "This is incredible," he takes another sip. "I have a job opening if you're interested?" He doesn't, but he'll find room in the budget somewhere. Maybe this traumatized dead girl will be able to save his floundering business.

She smiles, freezes, the happiness fades from her face like light from the evening sky. "I… I should warn you…" she dips her head uncomfortably, unwilling or unable to continue.

"That you're a litch?" Kristoff takes another sip. "Doesn't seem to have much to do with your coffee and your coffee is why I'm hiring you."

"Oh," Elsa lets herself smile. "I'd be delighted."

On the television, the United Nations spokesperson comes forward. "It is the conclusion of this counsel that litches, being possessed of obviously human intellect and sapience, deserve all of the rights afforded to humans. Any attempted genocide will be condemned by this counsel of United Nations as we would for any…" Kristoff tunes out the television again. It's good to see the world getting its shit together.

* * *

February 27, 2017

Elsa has been working at Kristoff's little coffee shop for less than a week, and already he's noticed an improvement. More customers, more repeat visitors. It's the best week he's had in a while. When he comes in today though, it's obvious that something is terribly, critically wrong.

Elsa stands in the center of the serving floor, looking wildly back and forth. Her hands are wound tightly in her skirt, her lip is bleeding slightly from where she's been biting it, and there's nothing but confusion and terror in her beautiful eyes. Kristoff takes a step toward her.

There are patrons all around. Standing, with ugly expressions and an ugly air. "Worthless corpse," one woman sneers. "Clumsy girl."

"Sorry," Elsa says automatically. There's a shattered cup at her feet.

"A corpse cooking?" a man says in tones better reserved for 'shit on my boot' or 'gum on the sidewalk'. "You're going to get us all sick."

"Es tut mir leid," Elsa says. "Kann ich meine geige haben?"

"You're in America," another man gives her a shove. She stumbles. "You speak American in America."

"I speak English," Elsa frowns. "I… I speak… I'm sorry…"

Kristoff is frozen in horror. Not the sort of deer-in-the-headlights accepting your fate sort of frozen, but a disbelieving frozen. How? How could people possibly be so… wicked? How do they hold such baseless hatred? How do they decide to be so cruel to someone that can't possibly have done anything so terrible as to deserve it? He cannot comprehend their thoughts. It doesn't compute so it must not be happening.

A woman has Elsa's battered violin case. "Let's see what the corpse has?" She opens it. The violin looks old. It's covered in tiny chips and scratches like it's been well used, but polished and lovingly tuned. The cheek rest is worn smooth from use, the bow's hair is frayed and worn but the wood is smooth and still perfectly arced. There's a little worn piece of paper tucked into the velvet case. Yellow with age and grey at the creases, it says "from Pabbie, to Elsa," on it in clumsy and faded handwriting.

"No!" Elsa cries out. She totters toward the woman but someone sticks out a foot and Elsa goes down in a jumble of too thin limbs. "Please," she looks up. "My… nicht meine geige." She would cry if she were able, but her old dead tear ducts are dry.

Something in the woman's expression sets Kristoff moving but he's too slow.

"Such a pretty thing for such an ugly corpse," she sneers, and then it's falling like Elsa did before. The old violin shatters, thin shards of wood ricochet around the little shop.

Kristoff is a freight train and nothing is going to get him to stop before those horrible people are a thin red paste. Elsa's broken, tearless sobbing brings him up short anyway.

"My… my… m…" she's stuttering, her shaking hands trying to piece together the varnished splinters. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry. Es tut mir leid." Apologizing to the woman who ruined one of her few precious belongings, or to someone else? Kristoff doesn't know, but the pity he feels takes the fight out of him and the tightness out of his fists.

"Out," he says in a voice that feels as small as Elsa looks there on the ground. It isn't though. Not small but quiet. Not pathetic but menacing. Kristoff is not a terribly large man, but he does have muscle and he can look very imposing when he chooses. A few of the men are larger than him, but the thunder in his expression and the murder in his eyes convince them that he is not someone to fuck with. Not right now.

"I'm sorry," Elsa repeats it like a mantra. "I…" She has to concentrate to force out what she wants to say. To not lose it to the shadows of her own mind. "I'll go. I. Sorry."

"Not you," Kristoff kneels and sweeps her into a loose hug. Loose, so she won't feel so trapped. "You lot," he growls up at the humans, and feels abruptly ashamed for his own humanity. "Get the fuck out of my shop. If I see you again, you won't be walking anymore."

Something in the crowd has broken. The almost tangible violence they were building to is gone, replaced by the sinking realization of how far they took their xenophobia. People leave. In ones and twos at first, then they're gone.

"I…" Elsa frowns. "I… why… the ground?"

Kristoff doesn't know what's wrong. He doesn't know why she can't hold a thought, doesn't understand the intricacies of the magic that keeps her in some semblance of life. Doesn't know why her sharp- if skittish- intellect isn't behind her clear eyes, but he does know one thing and that is this little battered litch needs someone to protect her.

* * *

December 19, 2020

Anna plays idly with Elsa's thin fingers and leans carefully against her. Kristoff watches from the counter like a slowly circling hawk, content to give them their space, but ready to swoop in if needed. His newspaper lies open on the counter but he doesn't read it.

"You drawing the shop?" Anna asks.

"The remodel, yes," Elsa gives a small smile, a light squeeze of Anna's freckled hands. "You think these braziers are too gaudy?"

"I think they're just the right amount of gaudy," Anna grins. "It'll be like a awesome Egypt castle temple thing."

"Eloquent," Elsa smirks. Anna shrugs.

"Pfah. Eloquence," she scoffs. "Tell me something about you."

"Not much to tell," Elsa goes back to her drawing. Anna gives a brief, frustrated frown. It's gone as swiftly as it came.

"Tell me something I don't already know about you," Anna wheedles. Elsa sets down the charcoal and dusts off her pale hands.

"I can fly aircraft," Elsa indulges after a moment.

"Really?" Anna gives a broad grin. "That's pretty awesome. What made you learn to do that?"

Elsa shrugs, but answers anyway. "I was fascinated with the space program. I thought it was… good… that humanity was going to the stars. I thought maybe you all could set aside your differences and rule the sky. I thought humans weren't destined to die on this little ball of mud. I thought learning to fly would help me when you did. You never did, and it didn't." She shrugs again, and picks up her lump of charcoal again. There's something troubled in her eyes.

"I think that's pretty optimistic," Anna grins and runs a hand through Elsa's silky hair. "We'll get there some day, just gotta remember who we are first." Whatever was bothering Elsa, it's gone. Not erased, but buried at least. "Tell me something else."

Elsa shrugs.

"Ok," Anna bites her lip and Kristoff wonders if she picked up the expression from Elsa. "What's the hardest part about being immortal?"

"You know when you get a song stuck in your head?" Elsa asks by way of reply. Anna nods so she goes on. "The worst part of being immortal is when you get a song stuck in your head, but no one remembers how it goes, and no one recorded it when they did. Or, when your favorite shirt rips, but no one makes that style of shirt anymore."

"People do restorations," Anna supplies helpfully.

"They do," Elsa agrees. "There was a lovely old man that restored my shoes for me." She scoots her chair back, lifts her foot. Her shoe is shiny and black, the buckles show a patina of age but no rust.

"Very nice," Anna admires the shoe for a moment because it's clear that Elsa is proud of it. "Where're they from?"

"When I was little, before the war," Elsa answers though it's more of a when than a where. "When I got my first job, I saved up- it felt like forever. Everyday, I would go to the shoe store, look in the window. I was so scared someone else would buy them first. It seems like such a silly thing to have been so proud of." Elsa shrugs.

"I don't think so," Anna replies. "I think it's perfectly normal to be proud of something you worked hard for."

Elsa shrugs again, but the way Anna scoots closer and grins eagerly prompts her to continue. "When I… died… the guards would take our shoes, put them in these huge piles. I don't know what they did with them. I'm sure I could look it up, but…" Elsa shrugs. "It took me a little while, but I saved my shoes. I'm not all that interested in clothes. Not as much as my mother would have liked, at least. It felt like I was salvaging something from my life before though. I don't know how to explain it."

"I think you explained it just fine," Anna says. "Fortunately for you, I am all that interested in clothes and I have sooooo many dresses that will go great with them!" Elsa groans, but it's not an unhappy groan.

Kristoff smiles and goes back to his newspaper.

...In a shocking 5-4 decision, the Supreme Court overturned President Weselton's controversial order sixty four. Justice Kay had this to say.

"I think the mistreatment of our nation's undead is wrong, of course, but as a Supreme Court justice I am bound by the constitution. Fortunately, the founding fathers weren't idiots, and the president's order is blatantly unconstitutional. I don't know whether magic counts as religion or armament but either way the constitution clearly protects it."

* * *

 **AN: well. The next chapter will be up "soon" so stay tuned. Pro tip tho, this is sortof a respite from the horrible, and we are not done abusing that poor old litch.**

 **Speaking of pro tips, little friendly advice from an emergency medical provider; if it can break, please don't put it in your ass. If it's made of glass, doesn't go in your ass. If it's alive, please not in your ass. If you ignore this advice and do it anyway, then when you inevitably have to call an ambulance, just say what happened. Don't lie, don't be like "nothings wrong just take me to the hospital," just tell us the truth. I can't believe that this needs to be said...**


	19. Chapter 19

The three men do not dress the same- professional hitmen only dress alike in movies. They don't carry the same guns- don't want to give the impression of coordination. Grimy overalls or cheap flannel shirts, generic ski masks. Anyone unlucky enough to see them at work would guess robbers. Cheap revolvers and a rusted break action shotgun, sawn off and concealed beneath a ripped coat. Nondescript disposable weapons that take common cartridges and don't leave spent casings lying around for the inevitable forensics teams. They drive a rusty white pickup truck, park it around the corner from Justice Kay's sprawling Victorian townhouse. Law enforcement will fish the burned out husk of the pickup from the Potomac tomorrow. The three men get out, separate, their worn leather work gloves glint in the light of the street lamp.

Supreme Court justices have bodyguards- good ones- but the mercenaries are good too and they have the advantage of knowing when and where the attack will come from. The first Justice Kay knows of the attack is the shotgun blast that jerks him out of sleep as abruptly as it shatters the midnight peace of the upscale neighborhood. He sits upright in bed, the covers fall away from his bare chest, thin grey hair and sagging skin, but there's a core of undiminished strength beneath the signs of his advancing age. Outside, a revolver barks three times. His other guard dying, weapon still undrawn. Justice Kay retrieves the sleek semiautomatic from the safe in his bedside table. He knew that standing up for the undead would paint a target on his old back and prepared accordingly. He didn't know how large of a target he was painting.

Glass breaks downstairs. Heavy boots on the stairs. A creak outside his door. Justice Kay lives alone, little risk of friendly fire. He calls out anyway. "Hello?" He raises his gun. "Bertrand? Smithers?" It isn't his guards and the hitmen don't answer.

Justice Kay pulls the trigger. The gun kicks worse than he was expecting, but he holds on grimly. He stays athletic and his hands stay strong. Ears ringing, he fires a few more times. Four splintered holes in the wood paneling of his door.

Maybe, if he had run to his safe room, he might have survived. Maybe not, the assassins came prepared for that, but maybe. Instead he throws off his covers, stands, opens the door to check, meets twin shotgun barrels glimmering in the dim light of the moon.

The assassins don't speak, don't mark themselves out as anything other than simple robbers, don't boast or say who sent them. What good would it do? People expecting an attack sometimes hide recording devices. They take a few of the late Justice's more portable valuables and leave before the police arrive.

* * *

"Elsa?" Anna says. "We need to talk."

The litch sucks in a breath, holds it for longer than a human would find comfortable. She closes the news paper. "Oh," she says, voice small.

"Not like that," Anna sits next to the pale litch and bounces idly for a moment. "So," she says. "Magic. Teach me?"

Elsa sighs. "If you're careful," she replies.

"I'll be careful," Anna pouts, retrieves the translation of Elsa's book and slaps the thick bundle of paper down on the table.

"You need to be," Elsa grumbles and laces her fingers together because she doesn't know what else to do with her hands. "You've probably already taken a few years off of your life."

"I… what?" Anna scoots closer and takes Elsa's hands in her own.

"I thought you knew," Elsa is stiff beneath the little coffee shop's harsh lights. It's the last day that it will be open before Christmas break, and the renovation. Anna shakes her head so Elsa elaborates. "Magic is fed off of life force," she says. "Or maybe potential life? I'm not sure entirely, and I don't know anyone who is. People have a relative strength, or amount of power that they can handle without adverse effects, and the people who taught me said that I was particularly strong. I don't know if that potential is the amount of ambient magic they can handle- and there does seem to be ambient magic that I can usually take power from- or if it is unused potential life? I died young if you recall. Very young."

"But I don't have a lot of potential?" Anna guesses. "That's fine," she continues. "I'll stick to weak spells and try to figure out the like, great metaphysical secrets of the universe or whatever. Teach me teach me teach me."

"You don't mind that you won't be able to do much?" Elsa frowns.

"Dude," Anna grabs her by the shoulders and regards her with mock seriousness. "If someone is giving you superpowers, you don't say 'how powerful of a power,' you just snatch that opportunity right up."

"I," Elsa hesitates, but she's not the sort of person who can deny her beloved like that. "All right," she says after a moment. "Promise you'll be careful?"

"I promise," Anna nods firmly. "Super pinky promise. So, first lesson or whatever, what happens when you use too much power? I don't mean you generally, like what happens when someone uses too much because I think I've got a pretty good idea of that, I mean what happens when you Elsa use too much?"

"I don't understand," Elsa tries to pull away, but Anna clings to her shoulders with a sort of bullheaded determination unique to actual cattle, and to Anna.

"Well," Anna replies. "You don't have life force to use up? You're immortal. Or un-mortal, or something. What happens?"

"I," Elsa frowns, thinks for a moment. "Nothing I suppose. I pass out I guess, but other than that. Hmm."

"So," Anna bites her lip shyly, does her best not to show how nervous she is, and barrels ahead. Elsa can feel the little redhead's heart hammering in the flows and eddies of the ambient magic. "Uh, why not make me a litch? Then if I screw up, no biggie."

"Is… that your only reason to become a litch?" Elsa asks carefully.

"Nah," Anna shrugs. "I don't really like the idea of getting all wrinkly and fat and eeeeeew. And like, if some drunk asshole rams his car into me, it would be nice if that wasn't the end, you know? I can't really think of a downside. Unless you think you'll get tired of me?"

"I won't get tired of you," Elsa replies quickly. She tilts her head like a slender snowy owl. "I… would like to make you a litch… But there ARE downsides, you know. I can't eat or drink; it just comes back up and I can't taste it going down. I can't feel- not really. Not any more than the extremes. I heal slowly, I… everyone hates me."

"So what that you don't have to eat?" Anna sticks out her tongue with a sort of joviality she doesn't feel. "That sounds awesome! Save me a few hundred dollars a month and I won't need to worry about getting fat. I'll miss chocolate I guess, and bacon, but it seems like you can still smell, and that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for the whole immortal thing. So what that you can't feel? Do you know how many times a day I stub my toe or bump my elbow? Who cares that I'll heal slowly? At least I'll heal when Kristoff decides to protect your virtue with the business end of a shotgun."

"Kristoff…" Elsa chokes. "Kristoff isn't… he…. Kristoff wouldn't shoot you, but bigots might." She pulls the collar of her sweater aside, shows the bandages still present from the incident at Anna's college.

"Then I'll bite them," Anna shrugs. "That seems appropriately undead-ish. Or magic them I guess. Anyway. Give it a few decades and everyone will be horrified that anyone was ever cruel to the undead. You've been around long enough, haven't you noticed that trend? Make me a litch and it won't matter how cruel people get now, I'll get to see when they aren't."

"Litches can die," Elsa says quietly. "Or, most can. Destroy their phylactery and they don't keep going."

"But not you," Anna says. "Yours is all fancy and indestructible. If that's your only objection then can your phylactery do double duty? Hell, make mine a brick of something that doesn't really decay and we'll bury it somewhere. Or… can you make multiple phylacteries?"

"I have no idea," Elsa sighs. "All right. Let me scrape together enough power for the ritual and…" she shrugs meaningfully, grins shyly. Anna returns the grin.

"That was a lot easier than it is in all the books," Anna laughs.

Elsa shrugs- Anna's hands move with the shrug. "If you want to become a litch, that's your choice. I don't know if it's the right choice or not, but it's your choice and you aren't uninformed."

"Awesome," Anna leans closer. Her hands slip down Elsa's slim shoulders and run lightly down the gentle curve of her back. "It's good you agreed because otherwise this would be the most awkward Christmas trip ever."

"Why?" Elsa eyes Anna wearily- what is she doing that close? "If we disagree, we just… talk…"

"Mm," Anna agrees. "No talking." She closes her brilliant green eyes.

Why did she- Elsa swallows. She can feel Anna's chest pressed against her own. How odd, Elsa didn't think she could still feel that light of a…

Anna's lips are hot on Elsa's. Elsa's are cool and waxy and unmoving on Anna's. It's… well, Elsa has kissed Anna's forehead before, but it's not the same. Anna's lips move on Elsa's, and after a moment, Elsa copies her. It's… Elsa's brain doesn't seem to be working, seems to be completely blank. Elsa wonders if she's finally dead, but then Anna is pulling away with a wide breathless grin.

"Yes?" Anna asks. Elsa nods wordlessly.

"No!" Kristoff barks from the counter. "Oh my god it's like pure sugar in my mouth. Oh god!"

"Sorry," Elsa gasps. She doesn't need to breathe, why is she so short on breath?

"Meh, deal with it," Anna crosses her arms smugly.

"Did you hear, one of the Supreme Court judges was murdered last night?" Elsa changes the topic clumsily but effectively.

Anna stands, stretches, sits on Elsa's knee- not so effective maybe. "Yeah," Anna puts her arm around the frail litch and leans close. "The news was saying it was a burglary gone wrong or something?"

"I," Elsa eyes Anna uncertainly then leans into her.

"You think it was President Wesselton?" Kristoff raises one bushy blond eyebrow.

"Or the Vice President," Anna frowns. "Whatever his name is. Frollo or something. He's a right stinker. You know, now that I think about it…"

"It's just… suspicious," Elsa says after a moment. "Suspicious like the talk show host that disappeared, what was his name? The one that made all the jokes about the anti-deadists?"

"The guy that always said anti-deadists were just afraid of death, and envious of litches or whatever?" Anna frowns. "He's missing?"

* * *

 **AN: I apologize for the short chapter. I felt like I needed to get a chapter out on this story's one year anniversary, and better a short one than no chapter at all. A thousand thanks for everyone who has taken this journey with me, here's to another year of litch Elsa.**

 **Also, I have been requested to give ambulance pro tips at the end of each chapter so, sigh, here you go. If you insist on lawn mower racing, please make sure that the cutty bit isn't spinning. You might hit a ditch, go over the handlebars and get run over. Messy call. Guy looked like hamburger from the thighs down. It took like two hours to hose out the ambulance after.**


	20. Chapter 20

"Right," Anna bounces nervously on the Ball's of her feet. "No setting people on fire."

"I don't set people on fire," Elsa protests quietly and stands safely behind her girlfriend.

"And no raising the dead," Marshmallow adds.

"I…" before Elsa can finish her thought, Rapunzel cuts her off.

"No aging people to death either."

"Just the skeletons…" Elsa bites her lip.

"Other than that, I'm sure you'll be fine though," Eugene beams.

Anna knocks briskly on the aged pine of the door. "Um, and don't tell them you're a litch," she adds quickly.

"Or allude to your age," Marshmallow agrees.

"Or anything else that would let them guess," Rapunzel says helpfully.

"But really, they're pretty nice," Eugene's cheer doesn't seem forced.

"What…." Elsa lets her voice trail off hollowly. It's snowing, she realizes abruptly. That means it's cold. The magic eddies with the four humans' breathing, indistinguishable from the fog of their breaths to Elsa's unusual senses. Cold, very cold, but she can't feel it. Just a light knit sweater to her companions' heavy coats.

"And don't tell them you're… hi mom and dad!" Anna's words come out in a rush at the end.

"Anna!" The first thing Elsa notes about them is warm smiles. Hearts that seem to whine with age in the ambient magic. Veins clogged with plaque, the energies of their lives follow the relentless rush of their blood but boil like a swift river over rapids at the sickness in their veins.

They are rotund people, shorter than Elsa expected but not by much. Greying hair and bright eyes, fuzzy slippers and felt pajamas. Elsa wants to like them immediately. "Marsh!" The man claps his sons shoulder. "I'm glad you all could come. When I saw the business on the tv…"

"Well classes were canceled for a few weeks so we thought we could take a few days off studying for next semester and see family," Eugene replies.

"That mean you've proposed young man?" Anna's father squints at Eugene with faux suspicion.

"Nah," Rapunzel burrows through the crowd for a hug. "He's slow. C'mon. Let us in. It's cold." Laughing, the family flows into their living room. Elsa follows, and thinks that her heart would be in her throat if it ever did anything other than sit there still and dead.

"And you must be Elsa," Anna's mother crows. "Oh you must be so cold, come in dear!" The woman takes Elsa hands and gasps. "You are! Oh you poor dear! Like ice."

"The cold doesn't bother me," Elsa says quietly. Anna seizes her by the arm and pulls her through the door. It's better than heat at least… she tries not to shudder at the memory of that horrible flickering orange, burrowing into her flesh like ephemeral awls. She schools her face- long practice.

Anna's parents- Elsa doesn't know their names, and wouldn't presume to call them by anything other than "Mister or Missus Anderson" anyway- Anna's parents live well away from any town, in the thick green wetness that is the undeveloped areas of the Pacific Northwest. Tall trees laden with their own vitality and playing host to a half dozen species of moss. Lush verdant undergrowth, teeming with thousands of tiny rodents, millions of insects. All resting now though- the trees are filled with snow like fluffy white clouds and it covers the ground like an obscuring blanket. The animals hide in their little secret places where it's warm, the insects do whatever insects do when they aren't trying to bite or sting- Elsa isn't sure what that may be. It's nearly the perfect place to work magic; plenty of life force to draw from and an overactive ecosystem to replace anything she takes too much from. The only way it could be better is if it were springtime.

The Anderson's home isn't sprawling, but it isn't cramped. A comfortable two story middle ground. A red brick porch and ivy-covered walls. Faded white window sills and a moss covered roof. It doesn't look run down, and it doesn't look like it's decaying, more like it's a part of the forest.

"I…" Elsa casts about for a way to change the topic. "You mentioned having neighbors growing up," she says after an awkward moment.

"We did," Anna drapes her arms around Elsa's shoulders and glares at her parents' pursed lips and pointed lack of comment. "Mom and da moved when Marsh' and me went to college."

"Oh," Elsa nods and wishes the conversation had saved her for longer. The atrium is brightly lit but narrow and cramped for so many people. There's a coat rack and Elsa's companions hang their coats there but then Anna's mother is ushering them into the living room and Anna's father is peering oddly at Elsa. Elsa follows mutely.

"Did you make cookies this..." Eugene starts to ask, but Rapunzel swats him before he can finish. "I can help with dinner," Rapunzel says quickly so no one can reply to her boyfriend without seeming rude.

"Oh don't you worry about that," Mrs. Anderson says cheerfully and motions to the plush armchairs and wide couch. A fire crackles nearby and Elsa edges away from it as subtly as she can. "Sit, warm yourselves up! I'll get the cookies." The woman bustles off and Anna pulls Elsa to one of the soft chairs furthest from the fire.

"It's ok," Elsa says quietly. She wants to say more but… how? You don't need to go out of your way to accommodate my decades-old neurosis? A little fire isn't that big of a deal? Don't let your parents notice… "You don't have to…" she begins.

"No," Anna cuts her off with a stern glare, somehow still soft around the edges. Gently maneuvers the little litch into the chair, perches carefully on the round armrest. Something in her face seems to say that it's ok. That she understands. That she doesn't _have_ to accommodate Elsa, but that she wants to. That she likes helping her girlfriend however she can. She kisses Elsa lightly on the forehead, just the softest ghosting of lips, and Elsa can almost feel it. Maybe not Anna's lips on her forehead, but maybe her forehead on Anna's lips.

"So," Anna's father says sternly, taking a seat across from them. The chair seems to creak soundlessly under his weight, the other three seem almost to be holding their breath. "You and she?" Mr. Anderson doesn't sound approving, but he doesn't sound overtly judgemental either.

"Yeah," Anna's eyes are a sharp challenge, Elsa avoids the world.

"Hmpfh." Mr. Anderson says. He doesn't go on. Rapunzel and Eugene and Marshmallow sit quietly and don't get involved, though Marshmallow looks like he wants to.

"What?" Anna demands, and Elsa wishes she wouldn't.

"You know what your mother and I think about your decision to be…" mr. Anderson starts to say but Marshmallow cuts him off.

"Dad," The big man snaps abruptly. "If being gay was a choice, no one would be gay. I know I wouldn't want to put up with all the shit those two face…" he trails off, Elsa thinks because he fears he said too much.

"So," Anna's father says. "Elsa. Where are you from?" Elsa glances quickly to Anna, back to mister Anderson, back to… "It's ok, kiddo," mister Anderson smiles gently at Elsa, frowns at his daughter. "You don't have to say if you don't want." He doesn't sound patronizing but there's still something in his voice that makes Elsa want to defy his expectations.

"I'm from Germany," the little litch says abruptly, as if to say she isn't shy about it, but the way she hides behind her hair and behind her girlfriend's shoulder both undermine that impression.

"Oh," Anna's father replies after a short moment. "I like Germany."

"I don't," Elsa says quietly. She isn't sure if anyone hears her.

"You don't seem to have an accent?" Mister Anderson sits forward somewhat.

"Yaa," Elsa grumbles. "I do haff zee ah-cent mein herr."

"Oh," Anna's father grins. "Such a pretty… I love German."

Elsa would blush if her blood flowed enough for that. Anna runs a freckled hand through her hair- a subtle message that Elsa doesn't have to do anything that she doesn't want to. There's silence until Anna's mother returns. She passes out the cookies- big full bodied snowmen with a generous layer of white frosting. Elsa takes one to be polite.

Anna's parents are warm enough to Elsa, but not to Anna whenever the conversation turns to their relationship. There's an uneasy strain in the air, and the conversation sometimes dies out entirely. Eugene seems oblivious to the tension, or else determined not to acknowledge it and accident or no, everytime the mass of things unspoken drags the conversation down and drowns it in wordless discomfort, he brings that discomfort onto himself. An off-color joke here about the color of the hair between Rapunzel's legs, an anecdote about a pregnancy scare there. At first, Elsa's ninety year sensibilities are mildly offended by his crass unconcern, but as the Andersons' glares shift from Anna to Eugene, gratitude leaks into Elsa's dead heart. Intentional or otherwise, she is grateful of the diversion.

Eventually, the long gone sunlight reminds the little crowd of their heavy eyes and the wordless decision to retire for the night passes around. Anna and Rapunzel are given one room, Eugene and Marshmallow another, and Elsa a third. The bed is big and lonely and entirely too soft. The room is bigger and lonelier and entirely too white.

Just as Elsa starts to drift off, there's a knock at her door.

* * *

 **AN: A thousand thanks to halladelle who did the cover picture for this story. Whooooooo! Ahem. Dignified coughing, less dignified scuttle to my little shyness corner. So, I wrote this chapter like a month ago, and intended to publish it and the next one over christmas so that everyone could read about it while they're home with their families (and I'm stuck in the EMS station wishing people would stop trying to have sex with tractors) but I'm also trying to write a original steampunk novel with airships and greek gods and lesbians and it's going to be AWESOME whenever I get around to finishing the last five-ish chapters. And anyway, I got a little distracted, and somehow I got it into my mind that I published this chapter. Then someone reviewed the last chapter asking me to post more of this story, and I was all like "dafaque? Why ask for more on not the last chapter?" then I checked, and I was that I derped, so here you go. Horribly delayed. Sorry.**

 **Also, one of my other stories on this site has been published for realsies as "My Girlfriend is a Dragon" on amazon. If you all care to check it out, I would be eternally grateful.**


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